


The Unforgettable Holiday

by thelookyouredoingthelookagain



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: A Proposal, AU: Established Relationship, All kinds of smut, Childhood Memories, Dream Sex, Drinking, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Games, Jealousy, Light Bondage, M/M, Masturbation, Public Sex Fantasy, Romance, Sex Talk, Sleep Sex, The Cotswolds, True Love, Whipped Cream, fantasies, silliness, skull, surprise, violin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-01
Updated: 2015-01-01
Packaged: 2018-02-18 22:07:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 52,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2363795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelookyouredoingthelookagain/pseuds/thelookyouredoingthelookagain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John is planning a surprise for Sherlock that leaves the detective suspicious. After all of the hours John worked to make it happen, Sherlock takes him on a holiday that neither one will forget.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Suspicious and Jealous

**Author's Note:**

> All works here were produced by two friends in the fandom. One writes as SH and one as John, and we edit together. Our characters are based on the BBC's _Sherlock_ , though we don't mind playing a little loosely with canon and the occasional AU. We have whims and like to follow them. While we like to torture our boys with constant misunderstandings, we know they belong together and we always see to that.
> 
> All posted works are complete, and we hope there will be something for everyone. Please take a look at our other works. Just a note, though, there's pretty much always going to be smut. Sometimes fluff, sometimes angst, but always smut. We can't help it: that's just the way we are.
> 
> We plan to add new work each weekend, so please subscribe. 
> 
> We also really appreciate the kudos and comments --they mean so much. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!

Sherlock did his best to watch John without turning his head to look directly at him. This was the sixth text in the last hour John had received. Each time his phone vibrated, John had first looked at Sherlock before he checked the phone. This made him look guilty. About something. John hadn't sent a reply to any of the texts. Sherlock shifted his laptop to see if he could find an angle that would reflect John's image.

This had been going on for more than two weeks. Sherlock admitted he was slow to notice: John got a lot of texts and there was never any agreement to always share their correspondences with each other. No doubt, each of them received messages when the other wasn't around; sometimes the texts were so irrelevant, so it was useless to share. Sherlock didn't report every time that Mycroft harassed him; only occasionally John would mention news about Harry that implied he must have heard from her.

But there was something different about these recent contacts. Sherlock had casually asked a few times "Who was that?" and John shrugged it off or changed the subject. He never replied to the texts (at least in Sherlock's presence) and his face always went . . .  different. At times, his face appeared embarrassed; other times, pleased. And today, he looked guilty.

Without turning around, Sherlock muttered, "That noise is irritating. Can you turn it off or should I go in the other room?"

"Sorry," John said, quickly switching his phone to silent. He made a mental note to leave it that way for the time being until all of this was sorted. He'd noticed Sherlock asking questions -- subtly, of course, but asking nonetheless. Two things had happened in the last month that led up to this. The first was cracking Sherlock's skull in half when he dropped it off of the mantel. He'd felt so terrible, despite Sherlock telling him that it was fine. He had John now and didn't need it. But it continued to eat away at him, so he'd saved the pieces, trying to figure out what to do with them. Later that week, caught up in a lust-filled kiss, he'd tried to clear the table like they did in the movies, realising too late that Sherlock's violin had been on the table. It had busted and that time John actually cried, his chest so tight with guilt that it physically hurt him. Sherlock had been visibly upset for days, trying his best not to take it out on John, but that didn't help. And then John saw it, the perfect thing to get for Sherlock. He'd been in contact with the maker for weeks now, being updated on the process of it and trying to save up the money for it. It would be a wonderful surprise if he could keep the secret until it was ready. 

Sherlock decided to take a new approach. He closed his laptop and went over to the chair where John was sitting. He took John's book from his hand and slipped like a cat into his lap. He slid one arm around John's shoulder and gave him a quick kiss on the ear. "I'm bored. Should we have a little talk?"

John stuffed his phone into his pocket and nodded. "All right," he agreed.

"What should we talk about? Do you have any ideas?" Sherlock said. But before John could answer, he added, "How's Harry? Have you heard from her recently?"

"A week ago, yes," John nodded. "She's doing well. Trying to stop drinking again."

Hmmm, nothing there. "That's good, that's good," Sherlock said, trying to sound interested but knowing he didn't because in truth, at the moment, he wasn't. "And how's work? Any problems, issues?" he asked, as he twirled his fingers through John's hair.

John furrowed his brows slightly. "No, everything at work is good. Sherlock . . .what's going on?"

"I'm just showing interest, John. There's nothing wrong with that, is there?" He felt a little annoyed but wasn't sure if it was because John was suspicious about his curiosity or because Sherlock knew John was right to be suspicious about his curiosity.

"No, of course not," John said quickly. "You're just . . .acting a bit strange." John knew he should just shut up and answer his questions before the conversation turned to his own strange behaviour.

"I'm not," Sherlock lied. "Anyway, anything you feel like asking me? Anything you feel we should talk about?" 

John shook his head slowly. "Um . . .how's your experiment going?"

"Fine," Sherlock shrugged. "Moving on, would you like to go into the bedroom and do sex stuff?"

"Geez Sherlock, with romance like that how can I resist?" John teased. "What's going on with you?"

"Interesting," Sherlock said. "That was an interesting response." He stood up awkwardly and walked over to the mantel before remembering that his skull was no longer there. He'd have to figure this one out on his own. "John, would you say you are satisfied with our relationship as it stands? Anything you'd like to see change?" He did not turn to look at John, but instead just gazed into the kitchen.

John stopped smiling, looking a bit worried now. "I'm happy . . . aren't-aren't you?" He asked slowly. It didn't help that Sherlock was at the mantel, thinking of the skull probably. His stomach twisted.

"Indeed, I am very happy," Sherlock said. "But I can admit that very often I get my way when it comes to how things are. Sometimes this is because my way is the best way. Occasionally, it's because I have been known to . . . become difficult when I don't get my way. I'm wondering if, maybe," he paused, not quite sure what can of worms he was opening, "you have tired of my way."

"I don't understand," John said. "Are you asking me if I want to break up? I don't. I love you," he said.

Sherlock smiled before turning around. "I'm glad to hear that. I love you, too," he said genuinely, sitting down on the sofa. "I'm sorry I started this conversation. Let's pretend I didn't, all right? Would you like to do anything tonight?"

John watched him move to the sofa. "Um . . . I didn't have anything in mind. Sherlock, are you sure you're all right?"

"Of course, I'm absolutely fine," Sherlock said. But he didn't feel absolutely fine. Because he felt like something was going on with John that wasn't being shared with him. He felt pretty sure that this kind of thing wasn't supposed to happen in relationships. He was torn between his usual strategy of not stopping until he figured an issue out and the newer strategy he'd been trying to adopt since he and John had been together: trust. John said everything was fine. John said he didn't want to break up. John said he loved Sherlock. He should trust John.

"Shall we go out for dinner then?" Sherlock asked, but when he looked up, he saw that John was looking at his phone. John's face looked guilty again.

John stared at the new message. It was going to be more expensive than he thought. That meant more days at the surgery and less time with Sherlock. He stuffed the phone away and looked up. "Dinner, yes," he smiled. "Our usual?"

Sherlock tried to keep his face as neutral as possible: he wasn't sure if he was feeling sad or angry or suspicious or just confused and until he knew what he was feeling, he didn't want to reveal anything. "No," he said plainly. "Let's go somewhere different tonight. Let's do something different."  
  
"What did you have in mind?" John asked.

"I don't know," Sherlock said because he really didn't. "We could just have a wander and see what takes our fancy. When do you want to go?"

"We can go now," John said. "A walk sounds nice," he smiled.

Sherlock loved walking London with John. When they walked together it felt like the whole city was theirs, regardless of what was going on around them. It didn't hurt that John's cheeks went quite pink in the cold wind that also tousled his hair in a particularly appealing way. Sherlock kept his gloves in his pocket so they could hold hands, skin on skin.

John took his hand and laced their fingers together, smiling up at him. The wind was chilled, and he stuck close to Sherlock as they walked. "We can get some cocoa or tea on our way home," he suggested.

"Yes," Sherlock said, smiling at him. He was good, was John. He was good to Sherlock; he wouldn't do anything to deliberately hurt him. But then an idea popped into Sherlock's head: perhaps the texts weren't about betrayal, perhaps something was wrong and John was trying to keep from upsetting Sherlock. Was John sick? Sherlock dropped John's hand and slid his arm around him, sheltering him from the wind. "Are you too cold? Shall we rest? Do we need to get you back home?" he said, concerned.

"Wha-no," John shook his head, stopping to look up at him. "I'm enjoying our walk. Do you want to go home?" John asked, tilting his head lightly. Sherlock must suspect something, and John's stomach twisted at the thought. It was a good thing, if he could only wait a little bit longer.

"No, I'm enjoying this as well. I'm just worried about you. Do you look peaky?" Sherlock had stopped walking and was now inspecting John's face. He pressed the back of his hand to John's forehead. "Seems cold, do you feel clammy? Are you okay to walk? Do you want me to carry you?" It occurred to Sherlock that he was in fact probably overreacting, but the thought of John being sick and too afraid to tell him made Sherlock himself feel a bit sick 

"Sherlock, you're scaring me. I promise I'm okay." John grabbed his cheeks and leaned up to kiss him. "I am." 

Sherlock pulled John's jacket collar around neck. "I wish you'd wear a scarf," he said. Still holding John's collar, he moved his face close to John's and said, "You'd tell me . . . if something was wrong?" Then he realised that this might look rather menacing to an outside party. So he gave John a quick kiss and said, "Please, tell me" before releasing him and continuing to walk.

"There's nothing wrong, Sherlock. You know I wouldn't keep anything important from you." He reached out and took his hand again.

Did he, though? Sherlock didn't say this aloud. Maybe this had nothing to do with John at all. Maybe this was about Sherlock -- why was he so bothered in the first place? Perhaps not everything in the world had to be a clue, perhaps not had to have a bigger meaning. At the next junction, Sherlock stopped and turned around in a circle, "I see a Chinese, an Indian, an Italian and a coffee shop. Which do you choose?"

"Coffee shop," John said. "I'm not really that hungry."

The warmth of the coffee shop felt good. Sherlock pulled a chair out for John and went to get the drinks. He set the mugs down and took a seat. He leaned over the table and took John's hands. "John, I've got something I feel I need to share with you," he said 

John's stomach twisted violently again and he gripped Sherlock's hands. "Okay," he nodded. He bit his lip and waited anxiously.

"I know you've been communicating with someone and haven't been telling me about it," he said quietly. "It's bothering me and I'm not sure what to do about it."

John flushed and shook his head. "It's nothing bad," he said, realising that made it sound even worse. "I promise it's nothing bad. It's a surprise," John said.

Sherlock smirked a bit. "Listen to me, John. I have been thinking about this for a while. Whatever, whoever it is, I'm not sure this matters as much to me as the fact that the whole thing is bothering me so greatly. It doesn't seem logical. We are not in each other's presence twenty-four hours a day. You must get texts and calls when we are apart. I don't quiz you on these every night when you get home. But having to see you get them, it is really getting under my skin and I don't know why."

"I'll keep my phone on silent," John said, knowing that wasn't a proper solution. "I just . . . it's going to be worth it later, okay? I just need you to trust me," he said. 

"Fine, I trust you," Sherlock said, brushing John's comment away with his hand and then immediately regretting the gesture. "John, I do trust you. Besides, I've already investigated and if there's no one else and you're not sick, I think I'll be able to accept your promise." He took a sip of tea. "However, the real issue still exists and that's my response. I don't like how I felt . . . and still feel."

"I know," John nodded. "Do you want to talk about how you feel? Maybe I can help?"

"I think I do need your help. I'm not used to this," Sherlock said. "I never used to care about being left out. I preferred it. But being left out . . . by you . . . I just . . . "

"No! It's-it's for you. That's why I can't tell you," John said, squeezing his hands again. "It's a present, a surprise," he said again.

"So you say, but at this moment, all I feel is left out of something you must be sharing with someone else. Why does that bother me so much? You have confidential conversations with your patients -- those don't upset me. Why has this one niggled me so, John? I feel like it's a . . . weakness."

"You're letting your imagination get the best of you, a nasty side effect of sentiment," John smiled softly. "It's just like my patients -- business. That's all."

"Stop going on about how this whole thing is for me, it makes it worse that I feel so horrible about something you say is actually a kindness," Sherlock's hands went to his face before he set them into his lap, looked down at the table and said, "John, I think I'm jealous." He said it like he was admitting to having been diagnosed with terminal sexual disease -- a mix of shame and devastation.

"I know," John laughed softly. He sobered up and caught Sherlock's hand again. "I am trying to reassure you that you don't have to be."

"I know I don't have to be -- I believe you -- but I am and don't know how not to be -- not just about this, but ever," Sherlock confessed. "I hate it."

"I know," John nodded. "I know it's not a good feeling and I hate that I am the cause but it's only a little bit longer."

"Are you saying you've felt jealous before? But you seem so sensible. . ." Sherlock said.

"Of course I have," John said. "When Irene was here," he admitted with a small smile.

"That makes no sense to me, John," Sherlock said. "Is love making us . . . stupid?"

"No, Sherlock," John laughed. "It's making us feel more."

"I liked it when love just made me feel . . . happy. How can we get back to that? Help, please," Sherlock said honestly. He felt like such a child -- helpless and inexperienced in this arena.

"Sherlock, I don't know how," he said quietly. "It's all . . .part of the package," he shrugged.

"Can't you do one of your things?" Sherlock begged.

"What things?" John asked confused.

"One of those things that make me feel . . . warm."

John smiled. "Well . . . I love you very much," he said, lacing their fingers. "And that's . . . that's all I can do to reassure you."

Sherlock shook his head. "You do a lot more than that," Sherlock moved his fingers against John's. "What about that thing you do with your face when your leg goes to sleep? That makes me feel warm. You've not done that in ages." Sherlock smiled as he remembered the last time he'd seen that. "And the thing you did in the bath?" Sherlock shifted his leg slightly so it pressed against John's. "That made me feel very . . . happy."

John smiled wider. "Please go on," he said. He loved when Sherlock noticed little things like this, and it seemed to be getting his mind off of his jealousy.

Sherlock closed his eyes for a minute and let images of John flash in his mind. "Three weeks ago, you stumbled when you were carrying the tea. A little spilled, you swore and then apologised. That was cute." He smiled as he watched it happen again in his head. "One day you left a note and I could tell you had written in, rubbed it out and written it more neatly," Sherlock opened his eyes, "Those things, John. It seems like you've not done any of those kind of things recently."

"I know I've been working a lot more," John said. "But . . . but it's for the surprise, yeah?" He leaned over and kissed him softly. "Want me to tell you what I notice?"

"Yes, please." Sherlock felt a little anxious; he was well aware of his faults but found it hard to believe that he ever did the kinds of things John did. Sherlock was many things but neither 'cute' nor 'sweet' really described him like they described John. 

"Hmm . . . well, you snore very softly and I like to listen for a while before I sleep. I also like when you're thinking really hard and you get that little wrinkle in your forehead." John smiled as he thought about it. "Also, when we watch telly, you rub my shoulder lightly. I don't know if you realise you're doing it but it's nice."

Sherlock blushed. He hadn't known he'd done any of those things. "And those things make you feel warm, like you make me feel? Love is a very interesting thing," he said. He slipped his fingertips under John's shirt cuffs and stroked his wrists. "Let's go home now."


	2. Bonding

Sherlock slipped his arm through John's as they walked home. "It's still early. What shall we do when we get back? Telly?"

John nodded. "That will be nice. I like cuddling with you. You know, that surprised me about you," John admitted.

"What? That I liked cuddling?" Sherlock smiled. He was thinking about cuddling.

John nodded. "It's a very sentimental thing to do," he teased.

"You're wrong there, I'm afraid, it's scientific," Sherlock said. "Stop for a minute and I'll show you." He grabbed John's arm and pulled him into a darkened doorway. He pressed his body into John's and slid his arms around him. He gave John a hard kiss as he moved his hands over the back of John's body. "Our brains are likely producing oxytocin right now," he whispered into John's ear. "It's a neurotransmitter and may increase feelings of trust and bonding." He kissed John again, "We're bonding right now, John . . . chemically." Then, using one of his knees to separate John's legs, he slid his hand to John's thighs and then said, "Scientists say that oxytocin can cause spontaneous erections in rats. But," he stepped back from John, "that's in laboratory conditions, obviously" and he started walking again.

John gasped when Sherlock pressed against him, shuddering out a breath as he breathed against his ear. And then, as quickly as it started, it was over. John stood in the darkened doorway for a minute, collecting his thoughts and adjusting himself before catching up to him. "You arse," he teased softly. 

"You love it," Sherlock said, laughing. He reached back and grabbed John's hand, "Come on, hurry up. I want to get you home and . . . bond some more." 

"I should say no after your trickery," John laughed.

"Perhaps," Sherlock said, "but I bet you won't." Sherlock unlocked the door and guided John in. Then he turned and pushed John against the wall, kissing him again, and then pulled him up the stairs.

John kissed him desperately, letting Sherlock pull him along. He grabbed at whatever he could, already pressing into his pants. Sherlock had such an effect on him it still made him dizzy even after all this time.

Sherlock put his hands up to John's face and kissed him. "You are making me feel very warm at the moment," he purred.

"Tell me," he murmured, pulling at Sherlock's clothes.

"I'm aching for you," Sherlock said, unbuttoning John's shirt. "I want your skin against mine, I want your mouth on me." He pulled at John's belt.

John bit his lip and pushed Sherlock's shirt off of his shoulders. He moaned loudly. "I want to taste every inch," he tossed the shirt aside and started on his belt. "I want to feel your hands."

As John slid his trousers down, Sherlock pressed his hand against John's crotch. "Mmmm," he said, "I want this." He pulled at John's pants so he could wrap his long fingers around his cock. Sherlock felt John exhale on his bare shoulder. He slid his other arm around John to hold him steady as he began firmly stroking him.

John closed his eyes and shuddered out a breath, leaning his head onto Sherlock. As he stroked, John kissed and nipped at his shoulder, his hands sliding back to Sherlock's arse.

Sherlock rocked their bodies to match the rhythm of his hand. His other hand slipped to John's head and tangled itself in his hair. He could feel John's hands pressing into his skin. He kept a firm, steady stroke. He dipped his head.

John slid his hands forward and tugged away his pants, gripping his cock and stroking him in return. "Oh," he breathed, his head falling back against the wall.

John's hand on his cock made Sherlock close his eyes and groan John's name. He kept pulling faster and harder. "This is only the start, John. Get close but don't come." The movement of John's hand, his hand, and their bodies occasionally matched but it was all mostly frenetic. Sherlock could feel his skin start to get damp from the heat, despite their only being back in the flat a short time. He kept his eyes closed and imagined the way they looked.

"Okay," John breathed heavily, lifting his head to kiss Sherlock hard.

Sherlock took John's kiss, letting his tongue into John's mouth. He swirled in, catching John's tongue and sucked it into his own mouth. He felt like he wanted to consume John, to take in every part of him. At least in this way, Sherlock knew he was everything to John -- no one else did these things to John and with John. It was just Sherlock.

John moaned loudly into the kiss, lacing his free hand into Sherlock's hair and holding him close.

"John, stop," Sherlock did his best to say. He was close and knew that John's fingers in his hair was often what could push him over. He tried to control his breathing and turned all of his attention to John. He switched his rhythm slightly, going more slowly and more deliberately. He moved his mouth to John's ear, licking and sucking on the lobe as he made soft noises.

John moaned and pulled his hands away from Sherlock, catching his breath for a second before gently grabbing Sherlock's hand to stop him. "M'close," he murmured.

Sherlock released his grip and weaved his fingers with John's. He brought both their hands to his chest and kissed John slowly on the mouth as John's body relaxed slightly. He moved John back towards the chair, saying, "Sit down." Once John had, Sherlock leaned over, kissed his mouth again, and then got on his knees.

John immediately laced his fingers into Sherlock's hair again, his eyes grazing over his face. "God, you're so gorgeous," he said quietly.

Sherlock's face flushed. He still wasn't used to compliments like that. He separated John's knees and leaned his body between them, reaching up to kiss John's mouth. Then he kissed John's collarbones, licking along the top of his chest. He gently sucked one of John's nipples, softly biting it. Then he licked down the middle of John's abdomen, allowing his hair to tickle the trail. He peeked up quickly at John, cheekily smiling. "What do you want me to do now?" he asked.

John moaned and arched into his kisses, panting softly when he looked up. "Suck me," John murmured. "Please?"

Sherlock smiled again, this time sweetly. He wrapped one of his hands around John's cock and he bent further to lick the tip. He felt it stiffening again. He swirled his tongue, his hand still holding the base. Finally, he lowered his mouth, taking more of John in. He flattened his tongue as he moved down. His other hand squeezed John's inner thigh.

"Ah -- fuck," John moaned, his head falling back. Sherlock was far too good at this slow pleasure, and it drove John crazy.

Sherlock loved doing this to John. He could feel his own cock growing and shifted his position slightly. "Keep your eyes open, but don't let yourself come," Sherlock said before swallowing down on John again. He slurped up and began bobbing. His free hand moved up John's thigh, his thumb brushing against John's balls. 

John swallowed hard and nodded, looking down at Sherlock as he bobbed up and down. "Sherlock," he whimpered softly, trying to hold back as heat pooled in his stomach already. Sherlock always made him feel so completely overwhelmed.

"I won't stop until you tell me," Sherlock said, quickly dropping down to lick across John's balls, which his free hand was now holding. His mouth went back to John's cock, swirling his tongue before taking it all in again. It hit the back of his throat so he quickly lifted his head. He repeated this action over and over until his eyes watered, and he moved back to stroking the shaft with his hand and kissing the tip.

"S-stop . . . fuck," John moaned loudly. "Let me do something."

Sherlock stopped moving on John's cock. He moved both his hands to John's thighs, pressing his fingertips into the flesh as he pulled them apart. "There's no need to swear, John, unless . . . perhaps you were suggesting what you'd like to do next," he said saucily.

John panted softly, marveling at Sherlock's control. "There is so," he smiled. He leaned forward and kissed him hard. "And it can be both."

Sherlock's hands slipped around John's head and played in his hair. "What now then?"

"Let me do something for you," John said. "I don't want to be the only one coming apart," he smiled.

"Don't act like what I've just done was all for you," Sherlock said, guiding John's hand down to his cock, which was hard. He made a small gasp at the feel of John's skin against him.

John gripped him and stroked him slowly. "There must be something I can do," he whispered. He pecked light kisses on Sherlock's face.

"Oh, there's plenty you can do for me," Sherlock said, pulling John up from the chair, "I just think we both should enjoy everything we do." He led John into the kitchen. "Let me fuck you on this table," Sherlock said, his hand slowly stroking his own cock. 

"You're filthy," John grinned, leaning up and kissing him. "Want me to climb up or bend over it?"

"I just want to be inside you," Sherlock said reaching over and holding John's cock with his free hand. "You choose."

John bit his lip. "Bent over," he said, turning to face the table.

"Who's the filthy one again?" Sherlock said smiling. He stood behind John, pressing his cock against him. He grabbed John's hand and moved it to his cock, using both their hands to stroke it. "Keep going until I come back," Sherlock said as he went to retrieve the lube. He had already poured some into his hand and was rubbing himself when he returned. He moved behind John again and said, "Bend over." He poured more lube into his hand and moved it down John's arse. Sherlock's cock pressed against John's cheeks as he slipped a finger over and then inside John's hole. It was so slick there was little resistance except for the tightness, which held Sherlock's finger as he moved it back and forth, in and almost out of John.

He moaned and arched back into his touch. "You made me this way," John smiled.

Sherlock slipped in a second finger and curled slightly. "You feel so good," Sherlock said quietly. His hips were rocking into John and he was feeling impatient. He slid his hand up and back down John's back. He separated his fingers, opening John, as he continued to move within him.

Sherlock moved his fingers out of John and positioned himself. He had one hand on John's hip and the other holding his cock as he slowly pushed himself in. It was almost an unbearable torture, how slowly he moved into John, but he enjoyed the anticipation. John's body was tight around his cock, the pressure made the movement seem even slower. He pushed all the way in and just stood for a moment, stayed still, inside John on their kitchen table.

"Fuck Sherlock, please," John moaned. It was beautiful torture the way Sherlock moved with him and he wanted so much more. 

Once again, Sherlock slid his hands up John's back. "Lie flat," he said, and when John did, Sherlock's hand moved to John's shoulders. He pressed into them, pulling John against him, as if he wanted to be as far inside John as possible. Then his hands moved back down to John's hips, and Sherlock began moving -- rocking at first. Then he moved back, sliding almost all the way out before pushing back in. He found a rhythm, using his hands on John's hips.

"Ah . . .yes, yes," John moaned, curling his fingers onto the table. "You feel so good."

"God, John," escaped Sherlock's mouth as his rocking turned to thrusting.

John pushed back against him, moving himself up a little.

The shift in John's body changed Sherlock's angle and brought a different feeling. It was all good. He loved when John rocked back into him, he loved their bodies crashing together. Then he slowed his rhythm slightly. "I'm close, John, I'm sorry . . ." he said.

"I've been . . . for a while," John nodded. "We can come together."

"Yes," Sherlock said but before he could say anything else, he was thrusting in to John and he felt the pressure rise and then he stretched into John, coming hard and losing his breath as his eyes closed and his head tipped forward.

John felt Sherlock's orgasm and thrust his hand down to stroke himself. Soon he was coming as well, moaning Sherlock's name.

The movement of John's orgasm felt so good to Sherlock, despite his own exhaustion. When John was still, Sherlock folded himself over John's back, which was damp with sweat. He slid one arm under John and slipped one up to his ear, which he rubbed. "I love you," Sherlock said into John's skin. He could hear John's heart beating. 

John leaned into his hand, smiling and panting softly. "I love you too," he murmured.

Sherlock slipped out of John and lifted and turned him to kiss him on the mouth. "We're messy," he then said, "Shall we have a wash before bed?"

"Yeah," John nodded. "That sounds very good."

Sherlock led them into the bathroom and turned on the shower. He stepped into the hot water and invited John in. He soaped his hands and then ran them over John's belly. He leaned in for a kiss as the water poured over both their faces. His hand slipped down to brush over John's cock. He whispered, "John, I am so tired but this is pretty sexy." 

"I know," he smiled. He leaned his head against Sherlock's shoulder, rubbing his hands on Sherlock's stomach and hips.

"Let's kiss for a little while," Sherlock said, kissing him. He slid his hands around John's back and pulled him close. He continued kissing him but turned their bodies so more of the water hit John. When he started to get cold, he said, "Shall we go to bed now?"

John kissed him back gently and then stepped closer to him to get out of the water. "Yes please," he said.

Sherlock dried off and then rushed, still naked, into his room. He slid into the bed and waited for John.

John dried himself off and followed Sherlock, crawling into bed and curling close to Sherlock.

Sherlock snuggled into John's body. He thought about John's list of things he noticed and he thought about what had gone in the flat since they'd got home. He loved John so he whispered that in his ear. Then he closed his eyes and let sleep take him.

"I love you, too," John murmured before he fell asleep.


	3. The Wait Is Almost Over

Early in the morning, John woke up tangled with Sherlock. He heard a soft buzzing and eased out of bed to get it.

Sherlock dreamt. He and John were younger. They knew each other in school. They were best friends. He forgot the rest of the details by the time he woke up. The bed was empty and it took him a moment to realise it shouldn't be. He stood and slipped on his dressing gown. The bedroom door was ajar and through the gap, he saw John. He was reading a text. Sherlock stood at the door, trying to read John's face. It was kind of smiling but kind of anxious. Sherlock recognised it. John's face sometimes looked like that when he looked at Sherlock. He tried to believe what John had said last night about the secret texts. He tried very hard to believe it. From within the room, he coughed so John would know he was awake. He watched John tuck the phone into his pocket. Sherlock opened the door and came out.

John smiled and came over to kiss him. "I have to go into work," he said. The gift was almost ready and one more week of over time was going to get him the amount he needed for it.

"Okay," Sherlock said though it hadn't been what he had wanted to hear. "I'm sure I've got work to do as well." Once John left, Sherlock sat quietly and tried not to feel jealous. He tried and tried but realised he still felt it. He didn't like feeling it and didn't like that he couldn't stop feeling it. He wasn't sure which he liked least. He needed a distraction but couldn't find one on his laptop. He thought about composing but then remembered that too was no longer an option. He decided to go for a walk, but couldn't stop the conversations in his head which were all making him feel more jealous. 

He returned to the flat, made a cup of tea, and sat down at the kitchen table. He remembered last night. That was nice (though he did get out a cloth and give the table a good scrubbing). He decided to take a nap, falling to sleep thinking of John and him and the kitchen table.

John's mind was only half on his work as he saw patients -- he was busy working out the details of the gift. It would be ready on Thursday, so he just had to work this weekend and straight through until then. He'd pick up the gift, get the whole weekend off and make it all up to Sherlock.

_I miss you. -JW_

Sherlock heard his phone and groggily looked at it.   
  
_I also miss you. I was thinking of you and then fell asleep. I mean that in a good way. SH_

John smiled at his response but had to see two patients before he could answer.

_I believe you. Did I wake you? -JW_

_You did. I'll go back to sleep. Wake me in a nicer way when you get home. SH_

John smiled at the message and stuffed his phone away, going back to his patients. When the day was finally over, a bit later than he expected, he headed home and smiled when he saw Sherlock lying on the couch. He crept over and kissed his temple. 

Sherlock opened his eyes to see John's face. "I went back to sleep but when I woke up, you still weren't home. So I came out to wait for you. And must have fallen asleep again," he said. He sat up and stretched. "You're home late."

"I know," John nodded. He leaned forward and kissed the top of his head. "I have to work overtime for a few days here but I'm going to take next weekend off," he smiled. "Dinner?" 

"If you want," Sherlock said, stretching again. He couldn't remember changing back into his pajamas. "What's happening next weekend?"

John shrugged. "I thought it would be nice to have a long weekend after all of this overtime," he said. 

"Are you going away?" Sherlock said, confused and a little alarmed. Sleeping had kept the jealousy at bay: now it was back full throttle.

"What? No," John shook his head. "A long weekend with you, Sherlock." John was a bit hurt that Sherlock was so quick to assume he had someone else, but he tried to be understanding. He knew the secrets were hard but it was just a surprise, and so close to being done.  

Sherlock smiled in relief. "Are we going away or are we staying home?" John was making a cup of tea and Sherlock moved behind him, slipping his arms around John's waist.

"Whatever you like," John smiled, leaning back against him. "Do you want tea?"

"Yes, please," Sherlock said, sitting down at the table. Images flashed in his mind and he smoothed his hand over the top, as if to touch the memory. "Hmmm. . . I thought you had a plan for this surprise. I want you to make the decisions. I just want the wait to be over." He didn't particularly want to remind John of his jealousy problem but at the same time, it'd probably be better for John to know it was still bothering him.

"My plan goes as far as giving you the surprise," John smiled. "It doesn't matter where we are."

"Hmm. . ." Sherlock said again. "I'm not sure that fits the definition of a plan, really. If there's just the one part. Let's stay home then. Let's lock the door and let no one in."

"Okay," John grinned. "I can watch you enjoy your gift," he said. 

"Hmm. . ." Sherlock said for a third time. "Is this gift . . . related to what we did on this very table last night?" He eyed the table and then eyed John. He was smiling.

"No," John smiled. He turned the kettle off and poured the water into their mugs. "But hopefully you'll be so happy that we will do that again. All over the flat," he grinned. 

"I was unaware that you had such a perverted streak, Dr Watson," Sherlock said, turning in his chair and pulling John into his lap. He kissed him hard and slid one hand between his legs.

John chuckled into the kiss, wrapping his arms around Sherlock's neck. "Like I said before," he said between kisses. "You made me this way."

"Don't blame the victim, John. I was just a normal, everyday type of guy until you came into my life," he bit softly into John's bottom lip and then kissed his cheek.

"Normal," John scoffed playfully. He dipped down and kissed at his neck.

"Yes, normal. I'd go into the office and flirt with the receptionist and then I'd stop at the bar on the way home and flirt with the server. Then I'd get in, put on my trackie bottoms and watch football while drinking lagers. That was my life every day until you came around and started inventing adventures and making me fuck you on the kitchen table," Sherlock was smiling as he moved his hands to press against John's cock through his trousers.

"I should walk away from these lies," John said, bucking into his touch. He slid his hands down over Sherlock's chest.

"Yes, you probably should," Sherlock said. He was now doing his best to undo John's belt with just one hand. "Yes, you should get up and walk away and let me watch you as you do."

"If you take my trousers off, it'll be a better show," John grinned.

"You know my favourite kind of perverts are clever perverts," Sherlock said pushing John off his lap. "Take them off."

John sighed dramatically. "I've been working all day and now I have to do this?" He smiled and pushed his trousers down, kicking them aside and striking a little pose, pouring his arms out to the side.

Sherlock smiled. "Give us a spin then."

John turned slowly, wiggling his hips when his back was turned to Sherlock before facing him again. His cheeks were flushed from his little dance.

Sherlock reached round John's body and pulled it towards him. "You're good to me," he said and then kissed John's belly. His hands slid to John's arse and he squeezed the taut muscles. He dipped his head to John's cock and he began softly licking it.

John put both of his hands on Sherlock's head, biting his lip. "You deserve it," he murmured.

Sherlock stopped for a moment and looked up at John. "John, I don't. I try but I'm not sure I deserve what you give me," he said seriously. "Look at the child I've been about something you say is actually a gift." He pressed his cheek against John's stomach, letting John pet his head.

"You deserve so much more," John said, petting his hair. "I'm just a boring old doctor who breaks all of your things," he said, smiling softly.

"John, why is that still bothering you? Please don't let it. I won't pretend that those things didn't matter to me, they did and I know you know that. But you matter more. You must know that as well."

John nodded. "I know, Sherlock. I do -- it's like the jealousy thing. Only a guilt thing." He smiled. "It'll all be done on Thursday."

"Does this mean my jealousy thing will end on Thursday? You can guarantee I will never ever have this horrible feeling again?" Sherlock was teasing, of course, but if there was any way it could be done, he'd be eternally grateful. John said jealousy was part of love; Sherlock was glad for many of the things John's love had introduced into his life, but jealousy was not one of them.

"Yes," John nodded. "And I'm going to do my very best to never make you feel this way again."

Sherlock squeezed John's back side again. "I love you," he mumbled into John's skin as he began kissing John's stomach again. He let one of his hands slip around John's body and slid it up John's thigh to lift John's soft cock to his mouth. He kissed it and licked it and let his hair tickle it as it began to stiffen.

"Mmm . . . I love you too," John said quietly, combing through his hair.

Sherlock sucked John's tip into his mouth and swirled his tongue. He felt John's fingers lifting his curls. He loved that, he shifted his position in the chair as his own cock was beginning to push against his pajamas. He kept his mouth on John's cock, but he was gentler than last night.

John hummed softly and let him go for a bit longer before pulling back and kneeling down between his legs. He didn't say anything as he started untying Sherlock's pajamas.

John's movement surprised Sherlock. Once John had bent down, his face was in front of Sherlock's, so close to his. Sherlock looked at the lines on it, the way John's hair lay on his head. Then he looked in John's eyes and held his gaze as John's hands moved at his waist.

John pushed the fabric aside, pulling out his cock. He stroked it slowly. "I love how you taste," he said as he kissed the tip between words.

Sherlock's eyes instinctively closed at the first touch of John's lips. They were so soft yet they sent an electricity spark right through him. He shifted slightly in his seat, making it easier for John to reach him. He dropped his hands to John's shoulders.

John sucked him into his mouth, slowly bobbing up and down.

Sherlock let his head fall back. His body was equal measure of pure relaxation and tense anticipation. One of his hands went to John's head, and he held onto John's ear as he moved on his cock.

John hummed softly, licking the tip and swirling the head when he came up. His free hand gently massaged Sherlock's balls.

"John," Sherlock said in between soft moans. "You feel good, you make me feel so good."

John nodded around him, hollowing his cheeks as he moved a bit faster.

Sherlock could feel the tension building. He held onto the edge of the table with one hand. "John," he panted. "What are you doing to me? I'm . . . close . . .really close."

John pulled away and looked up, running his lips along the shaft. "What would you like?" he hummed against it.

Sherlock felt the vibrations all the way through him. "I want to come," he admitted. Normally, he was good at the slow anticipation, but since technically he had only been expecting John to give him a cup of tea, he hadn't really prepared himself properly for the wait. "Can I?"

"In my mouth?" John murmured, sucking on the head lightly. "Or all over me?"

Sherlock exhaled. "Not all over you, John . . . the mess," he said, trying not to be distracted from practicality, "In your mouth or your hand." He swallowed hard. "Actually I don't care, John, just . . . please."

John nodded and swallowed him down again, bobbing and looking up at Sherlock through his lashes.

Sherlock sank back into the chair, his head leaning back first as he tried to clear his mind and then dipping forward as he watched John sucking his cock. John was beautiful and everything felt so good -- the way John moved his tongue, the feel of Sherlock's skin against the damp warmth of his mouth, even the way John's arm rested on Sherlock's thigh -- it all made Sherlock feel good. He looked at John, looked in John's eyes, and the rush began deep inside and he could almost feel it travelling through him. He started to call out John's name, but he came before he was able to and instead there was just a noise that went silent as his cock pulsed. He had arched in the chair and his body froze there for what seemed like minutes before he dropped back. He could feel sweat on his back and he tried to catch his breath. 

John hummed as Sherlock started to come, adjusting to hold his thighs as he swallowed around him. Back before they started dating John had never thought about this before, but it was amazing what you'd do for someone you loved. John liked it because Sherlock liked it so much -- his sounds and movements and sighs -- it was fantastic.

"John," Sherlock finally managed to say though his breath was still not regular. "Come here," he reached his arms around John and pulled him close. "I love you," he said. "I do. Even though you are a pervert." He kissed John quickly on the neck and just squeezed him for a minute. Then his hand slid down to John's cock. "Hmm . . . what's happening here?" he said, grinning.

"M'not a pervert," John murmured, pushing into his hand. John kissed his temple, bringing one hand to Sherlock's head.

"You kind of are, John," Sherlock said into his ear. He started stroking John firmly. "I'm at home, innocently sleeping and the next thing I know you've stripped down in the kitchen and forced yourself on me." Sherlock started to stand and pulled John up as well. "Plus, I think getting naked on the kitchen table two days in a row is . . . pretty outrageous." He turned John's body and helped him lie back on the table. Sherlock bent over John and licked a stripe up his cock, which he started to stroke again. He spat into his other hand and started massaging John's balls and thighs. He left his fingers brush over John's hole. "Are you sore?" Sherlock said.

"No," John breathed. "And the table was your idea," he said, his fingers curling against the table.

"Fine," Sherlock said, quickening his stroke. "I'll happily embrace the label of pervert. Now what would a pervert do in a situation like this?" He bent over and sucked John's balls into his mouth. He swirled his tongue over them. He moved and licked where John's legs met his body. While he was still stroking John's cock, he slipped a finger from his other hand into his mouth and then pushed it slowly into John's hole. He curled it and began a soft thrust, matching his stroke. "Does that feel good?"

"Yes," John nodded, arching off of the table. "S-So good."

Sherlock slid in a second finger. He pushed harder into John, his own thighs pressed into the table's edge. He stopped stroking and instead bent over and tipped John's cock into his mouth. He swallowed down, pushing John into his throat. He slid back up and then moved down again. He kept his fingers moving, brushing John's prostate, as he pushed in and out. 

"Sh-Sherlock . . . please . . ." John moaned. He'd been so worked up already from sucking Sherlock off that he couldn't take much more. There were so many different feelings overwhelming him.

Sherlock lifted his head. "Are you going to come, John? Where? In my mouth or all over the kitchen so I have to clean again?" Sherlock smiled as he slid his mouth back down John's cock. He moved his fingers faster into John.

John whimpered, the words pushing him right over. He squeezed his eyes shut and came, bucking off of the table and calling out Sherlock's name loudly.

Sherlock felt John's muscles contract around his fingers and then he felt John press further into his mouth. He relaxed his throat as John came. He stayed there through each of John's jerks, swallowing down. When John's body collapsed on the table, Sherlock slowly pulled out his fingers and climbed up on to the table to lie down next to John. He curled around John's panting body, reached around John's head and turned it to look at him. He kissed John's mouth softly. "Love has made us a little crazy, I think," he smiled.

John laughed breathlessly. "The table . . ." he shook his head and laughed harder. "I love you," he said.

"We can never serve Mrs Hudson food on this table again," Sherlock said. "Speaking of that, are you hungry or can we just go to bed?"

"I'm kind of hungry, honestly," John said. He leaned over and kissed him softly. "Let's just order something easy, yeah?"

"I refuse to get dressed so you deal with it," Sherlock said. He stood up and went into his bedroom. He came back with some money. "Here," he said. "My treat."

"Well, this feels good," John teased, taking his money. "Do you want anything?"

Sherlock laughed. "Yes, I've decided to take you on part time as my rent boy in an effort to keep you at home more. You don't need to order me anything, but make sure you order enough for you in case I change my mind. Where's my tea, by the way?" he said, going to turn the kettle on again.  
  
"What if I didn't get dressed either? And then I would answer the door like this?" John asked with mock seriousness. 

"No, I don't like that idea at all," Sherlock said. There was a part of him that suddenly felt jealous again: John was his, no one else's. But he tried to control his thoughts. "I don't want you to be arrested. I don't fancy getting dressed and I've not got enough cash for bail."  
  
John laughed softly and smiled his pants back on. He called and ordered Chinese before picking up the rest of his clothes. "I'm going to put pajamas on, okay?"

Although this was not entirely satisfactory to Sherlock, he said, "Okay." Sherlock tried to focus on what had happened between them in the kitchen rather than on the fact that someone else would see how cute John looked in his pajamas.

The next few days passed very similar to this, with John working just a bit later each time and Sherlock sticking very close to him when he got home. He didn't mind -- he loved spending this time with Sherlock and was more than willing if it kept him from asking questions. He was excited to have kept the surprise a secret and couldn't wait to go pick up his gift on Thursday. 

"Sherlock, I'm going to be extra late tomorrow after work because I have to go pick up the surprise, okay?" It was Wednesday night and John had just come home a little while ago with dinner from Angelo's. 

Sherlock picked through the food, eating a bite here and there, and always acting dissatisfied when he did. "John, you have been 'extra' late after work for weeks now. You absolutely promise tomorrow is the last, yes?"

"I promise this will be the last one," John said. He was eager to get the gift for Sherlock.

"It dawned on me last night," Sherlock said, "that perhaps I should be worried about this gift. Perhaps I don't deserve it, perhaps it is . . . too much. I don't give you many gifts, why should I get one?"

"Trust me, okay?" John smiled. "You do deserve this gift and you don't have to get me anything," he assured.

"I do trust you," Sherlock said, "but I'm not always sure of myself in these matters. I don't always feel like I am doing what I should."

"You're doing great," John laughed lightly. "There's no need to worry."

"So you say," Sherlock said, smiling. "But Mrs Hudson is always giving me advice on what I should and shouldn't be doing. I wondered if you were secretly feeding her suggestions." 

John laughed properly. "I haven't, but I think it's adorable that you ask her things," he said.

"I don't ask -- she offers or rather insists," Sherlock explained. "To be honest, I think sometimes she disguises chores she wants doing as relationship advice. I was suspicious when she said you'd stay with me forever if I took her drapes to the cleaners." Sherlock carried the dishes into the kitchen but just left them in the sink. "I will wash these tomorrow while you are at work. I am in serious need of distractions these days."

John nodded. "That's fine. We only have one more day and then I'm all yours for four days." He looked over at Sherlock and grinned.

"I wish I had an idea what the surprise was but I promise you I haven't snooped. Which was very difficult for me, I might add. I just don't understand why you're giving me a gift anyway," Sherlock said. "But I am looking forward to it -- so the anxiety ends but also because it means something."

"I'm glad you didn't snoop. You're going to be so surprised. I just hope you like it," John smiled.


	4. The First Game

Sherlock kissed the top of John's head as he came back into the sitting room. "What now? Telly?"

"Yes," John nodded. "There's bound to be a movie on somewhere," he smiled.

"Yes, you know there's nothing I love more than horrible films on the television," Sherlock said sarcastically. "The only way I can tolerate them is with you next to me," he smiled at John and moved over on the sofa.

"Calm down and come sit with me," John laughed.

"I thought you liked it when I pouted. Oh, no, that's right, I'm the only one who likes it when I pout," Sherlock moved closer to John, snuggling into him.

"Yes, don't forget that," John laughed. He wrapped his arm around Sherlock and settled into the sofa.

Sherlock tried to stay open-minded about the film, but about twenty minutes in, he started to get fidgety. This took the form of being unable to get in a comfortable position. When he realised his persistent shifting was distracting John, he decided to take a more direct approach to distracting John. He began by fiddling with John's hair. At first, he was just brushing it lightly but then he was tangling and untangling it and had to apologise twice for pulling too hard. When this did not suffice, he threw his legs across John's lap and told him they were sore and needed rubbing. He occasionally acted like John's massage hurt, even though it didn't, in an effort to get John to ask him why his legs were bothering him, which they weren't. When John's attention turned back to the film, Sherlock clicked his tongue and said, "Sorry, if my pain is irritating you" and stood up, pretending to hobble as he went into the kitchen to make a cup of tea. 

"You're an idiot!" John laughed loudly. "You nearly pull out my hair, demand massages and then accuse me of crippling you!" He couldn't stop laughing as he spoke. "Make me some, please?"

Sherlock hummed an acknowledgement of the request. "I don't know why he's cross at me," he said, as if mumbling to himself. "What does it say about him that he loves an idiot? Perhaps he should stop and have a think about that." Sherlock loved when John let him get away with acting like a child.

"I can hear you, you know. And if I wasn't so comfortable I'd get up and beat you," he teased.

"If you are challenging me, I am afraid you will be defeated, Dr Watson. You might have the strength, but I am cunning. Cunning always wins," Sherlock said. He stretched his leg: was it hurting? He thought now that it might be. He felt a strange pride that his mind alone had caused that. "Oh yes, one more thing. About the film. The woman is lying. She killed her brother." He brought the tea and handed it to John, "But I presume, you already figured that out."

"I hadn't, so thank you for ruining the movie," John said with mock anger. "I really should spank you."

"I'm surprised you hadn't figured it out. I knew it as soon as I read the Wikipedia entry," Sherlock smiled as he pushed in next to John on the sofa.

John shoved him lightly. "Well, I hadn't," he teased.

"And those two," Sherlock motioned towards the screen, "had an affair during filming." He took a sip of tea. "That I figured out on my own." He moved closer to John. "When we've finished our tea, take me to bed, please."

"Take yourself to bed," John said with mock seriousness. "I'm going to find a new movie that you haven't ruined."

"John," Sherlock said with an equally serious voice. "If you do not take me to bed, I will stay here and ruin every single one. Promise."

"Then I won't give you your surprise and I'll move into my office," he smiled.

"That is a lie. You would miss Mrs Hudson too much," Sherlock said, staring at the television. He stood up. "Fine, you can stay here watching shite telly all night. I am going into the bedroom. I am going to lock the door. You would very much like what's going to go on in there, but no, you stay here and enjoy this." He walked slowly in front of John as he headed to the their room. He called, "The blonde one dies" and then he shut the door.

John leaped off of the sofa and before Sherlock could lock the door, he stormed in and tackled him onto the bed. 

"Get out," Sherlock said playfully. "You're interrupting my 'me-time'. I need my privacy." He pushed on John's arms to try to get him off of him.

"Nope," John laughed, struggling to stay on top of him with all of his thrashing.

"Now you'll be sorry," Sherlock said. He twisted his legs with John's and turned just enough to throw John off balance. He turned them over and straddled John. He leaned over and pinned John's arms above his head. "Cunning," Sherlock said. "Always wins."

"You cheated," John grinned, struggling to get free.

"That's as may be," Sherlock said, looking down at John's face. "To be honest, I was unaware there were rules I was supposed to be following. Feel free to put me in my place. If you can get free."

"The rule was no cheating," John struggled harder. His hand almost got free but Sherlock had too strong of a hold.

"Stop fussing, you know this will end much more pleasantly if you just surrender," Sherlock said. "Say the magic words and I shall let you go."

"I'm not saying anything," John said, twisting his hips, trying to squirm away.

Sherlock smiled. "John, you have been working all day while I have . . . not. Which one of us do you think will outlast the other?"

John sighed loudly and stopped moving, putting on a face of mock sadness. "Please let me go," he murmured.

"I'm not falling for that. Say. The. Magic. Words," Sherlock said deliberately.

"Please?" John asked, pulling at his wrists again.

"Try again," Sherlock said, leaning his face down a little closer to John's.

"I don't know what you're looking for," he said, pulling his wrists harder.

"I think you do," Sherlock said. "What is my favourite thing to be reminded of?"

"How amazing you are," John smiled, twisting his wrists harder. 

"I am amazing, true," Sherlock smiled. "Are you sure you didn't mean 'Sherlock is very clever'?"

"No," John shook his head, properly struggling again. "He's a cheater."

"Dr Watson is very stubborn," Sherlock said. He shifted his body a little lower. His height meant he could still keep a firm grip on John's arms. He began to rock a little on John's body. "I didn't want to watch a film. I wanted you in this room. We are not watching a film. You are in this room. And now I'm going to get myself off while I watch you struggle." He leaned in closer to John and began grinding against him. "I'd say that was very clever." 

John froze, looking up at him. "We did watch a film, which you ruined, and then you tricked me and trapped me and now you're being the pervert I knew you were," he said.

"Pervert, amazing, clever, I view them all as compliments," Sherlock said in his ear. He was still moving against John. He made a little moan and licked John's neck. "Come on, John," he purred, "Don't stop struggling. It's quite sexy."

John shook his head, unable to help a soft moan. "I refuse to be an enabler," he managed.

"But John, you're a doctor," Sherlock said. "You made an oath to help people in need," Sherlock shifted his hands so he could hold both of John's wrists with one. He let the other hand slide down, pausing for a second on John's lips and again at John's waist before letting it rest on John's cock. John was hard and even through his jeans, Sherlock could feel heat. "What is this, Dr Watson? Is this what my cleverness does to you?" He pressed slightly and continued to rock against John. Then he dragged his hand back to the button of John's trousers where he let it rest as he sucked on John's earlobe. He lifted his hips slightly, slipped open the button but then his hand moved to his own trousers. He unbuttoned and unzipped them and slid his hand inside. His fingers wrapped around his cock and he began stroking it, pressing his tongue into John's ear with the same rhythm.

John's instinct reaction was to touch Sherlock, so before he could stop himself, he pulled his wrists. But  Sherlock's long fingers held him securely and just like that he was struggling again. "Let me help," he said.

"Yes, keep wriggling, that's helping," Sherlock said wickedly. "Perhaps you could beg me to let you free, that might also be of some benefit." He was still stroking himself, his pace quickening. "Of course, you could also say 'Sherlock is very clever' which would probably make me come immediately."

"I want . . . to touch you," John said, pulling at his wrists.

"Fuck, John," Sherlock said, seriously contemplating letting go of his wrists. "That is cheating. Don't use that voice. You know it's is my weakness." His stroke slowed as if he were savoring rather than rushing. His playful torture of John had now begun to torture himself as well. "However, you could also just be playing with me: I let you go and you get up to cheer your victory." He shifted his body again; his hips hung right over John's so that each movement of his hand also rubbed against John's trousers. "Of course, if your intentions were pure and you really wanted me to let you go just so you could touch me, you would simply say the magic words. So I can only assume this is a failed attempt at a trick." Sometimes Sherlock was surprised by his own bullheadedness.

John started bucking his hips up against Sherlock. "I just want to touch you," he murmured. "Don't you want me to do that?"

For a moment, Sherlock was conflicted. He wasn't quite sure if he'd lost control of this situation. He also wasn't quite sure if he wanted it back. Of course, he wanted John to touch him. There was rarely a time of day that Sherlock wouldn't happily have John touching him. And yet. Sherlock may have started this game but he was not the only one who wanted to win it. And quite frankly he was enjoying what was going on at the moment quite a lot. So he said, "No, I'm doing fine on my own. Thank you for the offer. I do find the struggling quite sexy but either way, it's up to you. Stay still or keep moving. I'm still going to be the one who comes." He picked up his pace again, his hips also bucking. He leaned down and started to suck and bite John's neck.

"I will too," he moaned. He wrapped his legs around Sherlock to hold him close as he bucked up harder. "You can't stop me," he murmured. He continued to struggle harder as he bucked, trying to throw Sherlock off with words. "I can feel you through my jeans and I'm going to come in my pants because of you and your cock." He was panting with effort but the last word came out as a hot breath.

Sherlock knew he had made the right choice in being stubborn but was surprised at John's playing so dirty. The only option left: play dirtier. "If that's what you need to do, John, I shan't stop you. It's just a shame, though, because after I come, I was planning on begging you to fuck me. But no, if you'd rather come in your pants than inside me, I'm not going to stop you." The words were intending to drive John crazy but were similarly affecting Sherlock. He was very close. He adjusted the arm he was resting his weight and concentrated on his stroke.

"That's-that's what I want . . .please," John moaned, reluctantly stopping the movement of his hips. Sherlock was clever, but John wasn't going to say it. Not yet.

"I don't think you do," Sherlock said. He struggled with the words a bit, his breathing now quick and sharp. "It's a shame because I really would love to feel you push inside me. I'm thinking about it right now. I'm thinking about the other week when I lay on this very bed and you were on top of me, fucking me hard. Do you remember that? That's what I'll be thinking about when I come, John. Any minute now. I want that. I wish you did."

"Please . . . Sherlock please," John moaned. Forget the game, John wanted him bad. "You're clever, Sherlock, you're so clever . . .please." He flushed at how little resolve he had, but he didn't care how weak he appeared.

And despite knowing that he would forever be mocked at being pushed over the edge by being called clever, Sherlock came. His body froze, the only movement was the spray of come spreading over John's jumper. He wanted to collapse on to the bed, but instead he let go of John's wrists, moved off of him and began taking off his trousers. "I won," he managed to say between gasps as he tried to catch his breath. "Now fuck me." 

"Shut up," John gasped, pushing his trousers away and throwing his pants on the floor. He crawled between Sherlock's legs, already licking his fingers. "Doesn't count if you cheat," he said, gently pushing two fingers into Sherlock.

Sherlock's body arched at John's touch. "Fuck," he moaned as John pushed into him. He closed his eyes for a moment to try to regain some control over his body, but it was too late. It felt too good and he pushed down, curling his hips as John moved his fingers. His eyes were closed but he forced them open to look at John, whose face was flushed and damp and determined. "It does count," he said, "but I do admire your effort." Then he let his head fall back on the bed and sank into the feeling of John's fingers inside of him.

"Nope," John pumped quickly, stretching him open. "You cheated." He pulled his fingers out and spit into his hand, slicking his cock before pressing it against his hole. "What do you want, Sherlock? What was all the cheating for?"

"I wanted to win," Sherlock admitted. His head was still back and he didn't think about his answers. "I wanted to win, I wanted to come and I wanted you to fuck me. So please, John, fuck me."

John pushed into Sherlock, slowly sinking into him. "So selfish," he murmured, coming almost out and pushing back into him. He loved these games they played.

Words were now no longer a possibility for Sherlock. He wanted to say how much he loved this, how much he loved John, but he couldn't. For a few moments, he just lay there, his body jerking with each one of John's thrust. He was letting John take him, letting John win for a few minutes. But it was too good. It took almost all his strength, but he pulled his knees towards his chest, so John could go deeper. He tried to say the word "More," but only a small moan escaped his lips. 

John adjusted and pounded into him, the heat already pooling low in his stomach. "I'm . . .c-close," he gasped. "That's your fault," he teased, trying to smile but only grimacing in pleasure.

What was so good about John is that he gave Sherlock every feeling. The feeling he wanted now was to be filled by John. He lifted one hand to John's head, brushing his cheek and then sliding into his hair. He looked into John's face and smiled. His other hand went to his cock which was starting to stiffen again and he stroked it softly. "Come, John," he whispered.

John nodded, pushing into Sherlock and letting go. A small thank you escaped him before he was calling out and shaking lightly with his orgasm.

Sherlock felt every wave of John's orgasm like a warm rush through his body. He wanted to kiss John, put his mouth all over John's face, he wanted to melt into John. He tried to lift his head to reach him but John was looking down, trying to catch his breath. "John," Sherlock said. "Kiss me."

John sucked in a breath and ducked down, pressing his mouth to Sherlock's and trying to hold himself up a little bit longer.

"I feel you inside me," Sherlock said into John's mouth.

John whimpered softly and nodded. "Feels good," he breathed, pecking at Sherlock's lips. Finally his arms gave out and he collapsed on top of Sherlock, curling into him.

"You both drain and fill me, John Watson," Sherlock said into John's hair. "I love you."

"I love you, too." John murmured. He pecked a kiss on his shoulder before rolling off and curling close to his side.

"I am . . . spent," Sherlock said, curling his arm around John. "Winning really takes it out of me." He smiled, looking up at the ceiling.

"You mean cheating," John mumbled sleepily. "But I'll win tomorrow," he said.

"We'll see, John. I may not feel up to a rematch. Are you going to sleep now?" Sherlock said quietly.

John nodded against his shoulder. "Get to tomorrow faster," he murmured with a smile.

"If I go to sleep as well, will you be here when I wake up or will you have already left for work?" Sherlock said.

"I'm going in early," he mumbled, pecking a kiss on his shoulder. "But that's so I don't have to stay late."

"And then I've got you for four days, right? That's what you promised," Sherlock said. "And I get my surprise and you won't have secrets anymore?"

John nodded against his arm with a half asleep hum.

Sherlock watched John fall to sleep. He thought about John and love and how John had said jealousy could be a part of love and how Sherlock hated that feeling. But everything tonight, Sherlock loved all of that. Perhaps that made the occasional horrible feeling easier to tolerate. John promised that after tomorrow, he'd never make Sherlock jealous again; Sherlock knew that John couldn't control that. Sherlock couldn't even control that. Sherlock closed his eyes. He wished he could be like John and so quickly give in to sleep. Eventually Sherlock gave in as well.


	5. The Gift

John woke up and got ready quietly the next morning, pecking Sherlock's head before he left. His mind was stuck on their coming evening.

Sherlock dreamt again that night. He dreamt that he didn't know John but was reading a book and saw John's picture in it. He studied the picture but the words next to it were written in a language he didn't understand. When he opened his eyes, John was not in bed with him anymore. He closed his eyes and went back to sleep but did not dream.

John wanted to text Sherlock but didn't want to wake him up. The day would go by faster for him this way. He tried to focus on his patients.

When Sherlock opened his eyes again, he could see brightness peeking around the curtain. He hoped this meant he had slept late. He couldn't help feeling a bit anxious about this evening and the surprise. He wasn't always very good with surprises. Actually, he didn't like being surprised because it meant that for at least a second, he was unprepared, not certain, and Sherlock always preferred to be certain. But this meant so much to John, Sherlock could see that, and he knew that was more important than a second of uncertainty. Maybe he wasn't anxious after all -- maybe it was excited anticipation? After all, he was going to get a present that came with much thought and effort from someone who loved him. Sherlock lay on the bed, trying to determine exactly what it was he feeling. He gave up after three minutes, deciding instead to have a shower and a cup of tea and do less thinking until John came home. But first he reached for his phone.

_Good morning. SH_

_Good morning, love. Sleep alright? -JW_

_I wish you were here. How long do I have to wait? I am refusing to look at the clock. SH_

_Five more hours. I'll try and distract you. -JW_

_That's too long. Distract me please. SH_

_I just had five patients in a row with the flu. -JW_

_Boring. Have you seen anyone likely to die in the next 24 hours? Don't bring home flu. SH_

_I won't. And it's not boring. That's a record or something. -JW_

_Do you remember shagging me last night? SH_

_I remember it. SH_

_I'm thinking about it now. SH_

_It's distracting me. SH_

Having a moment before his next patient came in, John unbuttoned his trousers and snapped a photo of his slightly bulging pants as he thought about last night, especially the way Sherlock had held him down. He grinned as he sent Sherlock the photo.

_I remember. -JW_

Sherlock smiled at the picture. Not because it was particularly sexy, but because he imagined John taking it in his office, worrying that someone might come in, looking incredibly cute while being a bit naughty. He closed his eyes and thought about last night. 

_I am going to have a wank. Enjoy your next patient. Hope it's flu. SH_

_Send me pics. -JW_

John knew that was risky and he'd only get himself worked up, but he had a break coming up and there was a lock on his door.

_Pervert. SH_

_I'll send you pictures of what it does to me. And how I take care of it after. -JW_

_Don't do anything at work. It's unprofessional. And makes me jealous. Anyway, it's too late. It's over. SH_

_I would've sent you pictures. And thought about you. -JW_

_You should always be thinking of me, with or without pictures. SH_

_You know what I look like. You know what that looks like. SH_

_If you've forgotten, I will offer a replay when you get home. SH_

_I love you. Come home. SH_

_You're no fun. Of course I'm always thinking about you and no, I haven't forgotten what it looks like. I might have a wank anyways. -JW_

_Don't. SH_

_I forbid you. SH_

_I mean it. SH_

_I'll know so don't lie. SH_

_But now I'm all worked up thinking about you doing it and I'm jealous and it's not fair. -JW_

_Life is not fair, John. You know that. Don't be a child. SH_

_That's my job. SH_

_Come home. SH_

_I'm doing it. I love you. I'll be home in three hours. -JW_

_You have made me very cross. Don't make me cross on our special day. SH_

_Let me be the boss of you. SH_

_Stop doing it. SH_

_Please. SH_

John was already finished by the time the messages came through, but he knew he wouldn't be able to hide it from him.

_I'm sorry. Please don't be mad at me. I'm going to leave work early. -JW  
_

_I think I am angry. SH_

_But I will try not to be when you arrive. SH_

_I'm sorry. Really. I love you. -JW_

_Let's forget about it. Come home. SH_

_I have to wait for your surprise. I don't want to come home without it. -JW_

_I shall busy myself until you return. SH_

Sherlock did not get up off the bed. He would but he wanted to think for a moment. John having a wank at work really had made him feel angry. Why? He was pretty sure it wasn't an appropriate response so he decided not to mention it again. But he wanted to think about it for a moment. 

Of course, it was unprofessional, but Sherlock cared little about that. But John did. Was he angry with John on John's behalf? Or was it related to jealousy? Possibly. Sherlock had no confidence he could figure anything out related to his jealousy. Was it because John had done something Sherlock had told him not to do? Was Sherlock actually angry because John had disobeyed him? Sherlock did not know the answers to these questions and, although he wished he did, he was now bored with trying to solve this. So he got up and made some tea.

_Are you going to wank again? I won't this time. I'm sorry. -JW_

John sent the message and saw a few more patients when the message came in that the gift was ready.

Sherlock decided not to respond. Instead, he spent the remaining hours, tidying himself and the flat. He went out and bought some flowers, which he set on the kitchen table. He thought this would cheer up the place a bit, but he also liked that every time he noticed them, he thought of John and him on that table. He then went downstairs to speak to Mrs Hudson. She had agreed to cook dinner for them so he carried it upstairs and put it in the oven to stay warm. He was feeling slightly smug with himself for the way he'd be welcoming John home when he heard his phone.

_I'll be home in twenty minutes. -JW_

_I will be very glad to see you. SH_

Not too long after John walked in, holding a wrapped box. "Sherlock?" he called out, finding him in the sitting room. He kissed him hello and then made him sit in his chair. "Okay . . .here is your surprise." He handed Sherlock the box and waited anxiously.

Sherlock looked at the box and then looked at John's face. It was so eager, so sweet. Sherlock said, "I feel afraid to open this, John. I feel afraid that my face won't look like you want it to look and then you'll be hurt. This is so important to you. I'm not even worried about liking it -- of course, I will. I just don't want you to be hurt because I don't know what to do with my face." The words seemed so stupid coming out of his mouth, but he genuinely felt worried about this.

John smiled. "Do whatever you want with your face. Honestly, it's going to be okay," he nodded. He was so excited to see what Sherlock thought and he really hoped Sherlock wouldn't be angry with him.

Sherlock turned his body slightly -- not completely away from John but just to make him feel a little less vulnerable -- and he opened the box. When he saw [**the violin**](http://craphound.com/images/front_left_34.jpg), he wasn't thinking about his face anymore. First, he touched it, sliding his fingers over the curves and brushing softly across the strings. And then he looked at John. Sherlock knew exactly what this meant to John, why it meant so much, why it was perfect. He lay the box gently on the table and walked over to John. His arms embraced him and into his ear, Sherlock whispered, "You have given me back two things that were very important to me. And now they mean even more because they came from you. Don't feel guilty anymore. I love it. I love you. Thank you for my gift." Sherlock squeezed John tightly.

John grinned, his face buried away into Sherlock's shoulder. "Really? That's so great, Sherlock. I had to give up the skull for the measurements and it's just enlarged but the same face really and he warned me that it won't sound like a traditional violin because of the holes and the curves but you can try it and if it's terrible I'll -- I'll get you a normal violin and I'll try and get your friend back -- " John paused to take a breath, his nerves and excitement making his ramble stupidly.

"John, John, John," Sherlock said. "Did you hear me say I loved it?" He gave him a quick kiss. "You say it's his actual face? That's amazing really. I can't believe you were able to do this." He went back to the violin and took it out of the box, admiring it more closely.

"It was enlarged, you know, same proportions just . . . violin size," John nodded. 

"John," Sherlock turned and looked at him again. "It's just . . . incredible." He grabbed his bow and lifted the violin into place. He played a few notes, then tuned it, and tried again. He smiled at the sound, looking directly at John as he did.

John couldn't help but grin back. It sounded great -- different, like the maker had warned him, but still good. "How's it feel?" He asked.

"It feels different but nice," Sherlock said, "it fits well. Does it look lovely?" He turned to face John, still smiling.

John nodded. "Looks great," he smiled. "I'm glad you like it."

"I do," Sherlock said genuinely. "I don't know how to tell you how much I do. Or how to thank you."

John shook his head. "I know," he smiled. "It's okay."

"I'm sorry I was such a baby about everything, I should have known to just trust you," Sherlock set the violin down and moved back to John to hold him. "You are so good to me," he said as he kissed his cheek. "I intend to use these four days to show you how grateful I am."

John laughed softly. "You didn't know, which I am very proud of, mind you," he teased. "Um, now that I think about this, you weren't really mad about the wanking, were you?"

Sherlock pinched John's arm a little, even though he was still smiling. "If I'm honest, I was, I think," he said. "Perhaps I was just angry that you seem to have forgotten that I was the winner last night and therefore am in the position of being able to boss you when I fancy it. And for some reason, I fancied it then." He paused. "But you didn't listen." Sherlock realised a better answer probably would have been "No, I wasn't mad," but he was trying to share what he thought he might have been feeling.

John squinted at him a bit confused but he smiled and shook his head. "You did it first and practically made me do it," he said. "I thought it would be a fun little game," he shrugged.

Sherlock rested his chin on John's head. "I don't always understand my games, John. I don't always understand. I'm sorry if I upset you at all."

John shook his head. "You didn't. I'm glad you weren't seriously mad though, because I felt bad."

"Don't feel bad," Sherlock was smiling. "I know how sexy I can be. I understand I'm hard to resist."

"Oh God," John groaned playfully.

"The truth hurts, John, but we've got to face it," Sherlock was wiggling into John now, almost tickling him and holding John's arms behind his back. "Just the thought of me made a respectable doctor have a wank in his office despite five different people near death from flu in his waiting room."

"No," John squirmed. "Sherlock, stop," he said.

Sherlock stopped moving. "No, what? Do you really want me to stop?"

"The tickling," John said.

"Okay," Sherlock stepped back a little from John. "When do you want to eat? Mrs Hudson's made us dinner."

"Let's eat now," John said.

Sherlock moved into the kitchen and started getting the food ready. "Should we have wine?"

"Yes, please," John said, taking out glasses.

Sherlock set the food onto the table and let John pour the wine. He sat down. "I got some flowers," he said.

"They look great," John smiled.

Sherlock smiled back at John. He took a bite of food. "You know when you were wanking at work?" he said, pushing the food around his plate.

John looked up with his mouth full and nodded.

"May I ask what you were thinking about at the time?" Sherlock took another bite of food even though he didn't really want it.

"About you," John said when he swallowed. "And what we did last night."

"Anything else?" Sherlock asked.

"You mean like . . .what specifically?" John asked.

"We'll get to that in a minute," Sherlock said, now ignoring the food entirely. "I meant were you thinking of anything else besides what we had done? Perhaps like . . . something we haven't already done?"

John shook his head, but then his brows creased lightly. "I . . .well . . .I was really focused on the part where you were holding me down and and only pleasuring yourself while I watched," he admitted, his cock twitching as he thought about it again.

"I see," Sherlock said in that way he had. "And then the thought of my wanking today, you liked that?"

John nodded. "When . . .when you forbade me to do it, I wanted to even more. And I pictured your hand moving furiously while you told me no and I couldn't not do it."

Sherlock took a drink of wine. "First, I'd like to thank you for proving my point that pornography is unnecessary if one has an imagination. Secondly, I didn't masturbate today. I was just joking. I didn't do it." He decided to take another drink of wine. "But I'm quite interested in the fact that my telling you not to do something made you want to do it more. I may need to file that away for future reference."

"But . . .why would you say that you did?" John asked, now feeling a little embarrassed for having actually done it.

"I like to tease you," Sherlock said. He smiled cheekily. "And it appears you very much like my teasing you." Sherlock realised he was smoothing his hand back and forth across the wood of the table, but he didn't stop.

"I liked the thought that just thinking about me in bed with you made you need a wank," he said, going back to his meal. "Now I don't know what to think," he teased lightly.

"Would it make you feel better if I went into the bedroom to wank right now? I could be done before you've finished your meal. I'd do that for you, you know. I'll think about whatever you want me to think about," Sherlock said. He was still stroking the table.

"No," John said looking up. "Don't do that. Why've you stopped?"

"Why have I stopped what?"

"Eating. And why're you rubbing the table like that?" He asked, noticing his hand for the first time.

"I'm not very hungry right now, that's all," he said, "don't turn it into a thing." He stopped moving his hand. "Sorry if my hand was bothering. I was just touching . . . the table. No reason."

"I wasn't bothered, just curious," John assured him. He went back to his meal again.

"John, don't get mad at me," Sherlock said looking down at the table. "But I kind of feel like going in the other room and having a wank."

"I could do something for you," John said. "Maybe crawl under the table or something," he shrugged.

"No, I think I should masturbate. You know, so we're equal. Since you did at work," Sherlock's mind was going very quickly.

"Oh. Okay," John nodded, pushing his food around on his plate. "That's fair," he said after a bit.

"I feel a bit . . . shy, though. You'll be in here, knowing, listening . . ."

"Do you want me to leave?" John asked, looking up again.

"Don't be ridiculous," Sherlock said, standing up from the table. "I just don't want you to be thinking about what's going on in there. If I do it, will you promise not to think about it? I really don't want you to. I'll be quick. Promise you won't be trying to listen or find out what's going on."

"I can't promise that," John said honestly. "I'm already thinking about it and I can't help what I'm going to hear."

"Then perhaps we should just forget about it. After all, you might hear and then be compelled to do it again and then we would no longer be equal. Let's just put the whole wanking thing out of my minds, shall we?" Sherlock sat back down at the table. He took a drink, picked up his fork and took a bite of food. 

"I won't do it again," John said, watching him closely. "You can go, though."

"No, I'm fine," Sherlock said. "Let's think about something else. What shall we do with our four days then?"

John blinked at him for a second before shaking it off and going back to his meal. "We could go somewhere, take a short holiday," he suggested.

"Yes, that sounds nice. Where shall we go?" Sherlock was smiling at John because he looked cute.

"I don't know," he said. "We can check after dinner."

"We should go to the Cotswolds," Sherlock said. "It's pretty there. Let's go to the Cotswolds and stay in our room the whole time, thinking about how pretty it must be outside. I can take my violin." He stood up and carried his plate to the sink. "Let's do that," he said.

"Okay," John agreed. He wasn't very picky about what they did. "You should play something for me," he smiled.

"No doubt I will," Sherlock said. He topped up John's wine.


	6. The Next Game

"Did you enjoy dinner? Do you feel satisfied?"

"Yes, I'll have to thank Mrs. Hudson later," John said, taking a big sip of wine.

"Do you want to play a game?" Sherlock asked, finishing his wine.

"Sure," John smiled, taking another big sip.

"Good. Give me a coin. I'll flip it and if it's heads, I get to ask you any question and you have to answer it truthfully. If it's tails, I get to be the boss of you for one minute. Whatever I say, you have to do. For one minute. Then you get to flip it and it's my go."

"All right," John nodded, handing Sherlock a coin.

Sherlock took the coin from John's hand. He tossed it into the air, caught it with one hand and slapped it down on the table. He kept his hand over it for a minute, trying to read John's face, trying to deduce which side John wanted to be face up. He lifted his hand. "Heads." He looked at John. "Have you ever done anything to my body while I was asleep?" he asked. 

"I've kissed you before leaving for work," John said. "My turn," he added, holding his hand out for the coin.

Sherlock slid the coin across the table. He tried to keep his face neutral in case John was trying to read it. To be honest, he had no idea which side he wanted to land face up. Either could be fine or disastrous. For a moment, he wished he'd never come up with this game, but he had so he would play it properly.

John picked up the coin, flipped it, caught it, and set it down. He didn't know which one he wanted more so he moved his hand quickly to see. "Heads," he smiled. "Tell me about the skull, like, who he was to you."

Sherlock thought for a moment. Was this going to be fine or disastrous? He said, "When I was a child, they sent me to a psychiatrist. To find out what was wrong with me. He and his vapid questioning helped me see nothing was wrong with me, it was the world that was wrong. When he died he left his body to science and deduction, as you well know, is a science."

"Oh," John said surprised. "Okay then," he smiled, pushing the coin to Sherlock.

Sherlock felt a little looser now. Whether it was surviving the first round or the wine in his relatively empty stomach, he was starting to enjoy this. He flipped the coin quickly. "Heads again," he said. "What is one thing we've not done that you wish we would?" He raised his eyebrow slightly so that John knew exactly what he meant.

John bit his lip and met Sherlock's playful gaze. "Um, maybe some light . . ." He trailed off, trying to word it just right. "Um . . . being tied up," he admitted. "My turn," he said quickly, before Sherlock could make him discuss it further. 

Sherlock said nothing but slid the coin across the table again.

John took the coin and flipped it, taking a big gulp of wine as he watched it land on the table. "Tails," he said, looking up at Sherlock. "Hmm . . .play me a song on your violin," he said.

Sherlock stood up and walked over to the violin. He fussed with it for a moment and then turned to face the window. He played [**Bartok's Romanian Folk Dances**](http://youtu.be/KBxq-ky1Aro). The violin had a good sound, a little different as John had said, but good. And then he went back to the table. "Coin, please," he said.

"That was good," John smiled, sliding the coin across to him. 

"Thank you," Sherlock said genuinely. "The violin sounds very nice." He flipped the coin but kept it covered. "What do you think it is?"

"Probably heads again," John guessed, drinking more wine. 

Sherlock lifted his hand so only he could see. "I'm afraid it's tails, John." He leaned back from the table as if he were really thinking hard about what to make John do. "Go get the belt from my dressing gown and bring it to me," he said, as if the idea had just popped into his head.

"The belt?" John asked confused, standing up slowly. 

"Just the belt, please," Sherlock replied.

John went into their bedroom and found Sherlock's belt, bringing it out to him. 

"Thank you," Sherlock said. He gave the coin to John.

John took the coin and flipped it, sitting down before he looked at it. "Heads," he said. He glanced at the belt, desperately wanting to ask about it, but he wouldn't ruin whatever Sherlock was planning. "Um . . . what's your favorite thing we've ever done together?"

"That is a very difficult question," Sherlock said, putting on his thinking face. "I'm guessing you mean sex-wise -- if you don't, let me know because that's an entirely different list and if I'm honest, the top ten things on all my lists seem to shift with my moods. But right now I would say," he closed his eyes to really concentrate and a memory popped into his head. "When you gave me the blowjob while Lestrade was waiting in the hallway."

John grinned. "That was pretty fun," he said. he pushed the coin over to Sherlock. "We almost got caught then." 

"Almost, but didn't," Sherlock said. "Had we, it would not have made the list." He flipped the coin. "Tails. Take off your shirt and go sit on the sofa." Sherlock looked at the clock. "Hurry, I've only got one minute."

John felt panicked by Sherlock's rushing him and did as he was told before he fully processed it all. He pulled his shirt off as he stood up and then dropped it beside his chair as he moved to the couch. 

Sherlock moved to the sofa. "Stand up now," he said and when John did, Sherlock softly pulled his hands behind his back and tied them with the dressing gown belt -- not tight enough to hurt, but tight enough that John could not free himself. "Sit back down," Sherlock said and John did. Sherlock looked at the clock. "Time's up. Your turn." He set the coin on John's knee and moved himself to John's chair.

Sherlock blinked at him. "I can't flip the coin, Sherlock," he said. 

"Shall I help then?" Sherlock said. He stood, snatched the coin from John's knee and flipped it. "Heads," he said, slipping it into his pocket and sitting back down.

"You've put the coin away. Is the game over?" John asked. 

"Is that your question?"

John didn't answer him, considering his next words carefully. "Why did you start this game?"

Sherlock stood up and walked over to John. He put his hand on his cheek. "So we could play together," he said. "We can stop the game any time you want it. We're just playing." He ducked down and gave him a quick kiss on his lips. He pulled the coin out of his pocket and flipped it onto the back of his hand. He kept it covered. "Shall we keep going?"

John blinked at him as he came over, leaning into his hand. "We can keep playing," John said, looking at his hands, his eyes fixed on where the coin was. 

"Heads." Sherlock said, watching John's face. "My question is . . . what do you want me to do next?"

"Kiss me," John said, pulling at his wrists lightly. 

Sherlock sat down next to John. He turned John's hips slightly so they were almost facing each other. He kissed John's mouth softly at first and rested a hand on John's thigh. He held the kiss as it turned a bit harder and he leaned his body into John's before then pulling away and sitting back.

John let out a soft sigh and collected his thoughts. "My turn," he said quietly. 

Sherlock flipped the coin. "Tails."

"Kiss me again, a full minute," he smiled. 

Sherlock smiled and kissed John again. His hands slid into John's hair, tipping his head. Then he pulled his head back just a little and traced John's mouth with his tongue and nipped his bottom lip. He held it in his teeth, looking into John's eyes before opening his mouth to kiss him again.

John kissed him back, moaning and tugging harder at his hands, wanting to touch Sherlock. 

Sherlock flipped the coin again. "I got tails," he said. "Stand up." Sherlock stood in front of John and slowly began to undo his belt, looking down into John's eyes as he did. "Kick off your shoes," he commanded. Then Sherlock pulled off John's trousers and pants, and his socks, so that John was completely naked. "Sit back down," Sherlock said softly. Then he went back over to John's chair and also sat down, draping his legs over the chair's arm. "Shall I flip for you?"

John nodded, shifting on the sofa and hoping that no one came bursting into their flat. 

Sherlock saw John's eyes flick towards the door. "It's locked," he said. "Remember, I have no interest in actually getting caught." He flipped the coin. "You got heads. One question, please."

John considered this for a long moment. "Have you been planning this since I got home?"

"Honestly? No, I have not." Sherlock flipped the coin. "Heads. Here's what I want you to do. Over and over in your head for one full minute, I want you to repeat the phrase 'What are you thinking about?' Just keep repeating it in your head. Over and over. One full minute. I'll watch the clock. Start now." Sherlock shifted in the chair so he was sitting properly. He lifted his hips and undid his trousers. He reached in and pulled out his half-hard cock and began stroking it. He was watching John watching him, though a few times when he blinked his eyes stay closed a little longer than usual. "I hope you're still saying it in your head, John. Twenty seconds left." His hips moved a little and he could feel his breathing pick up. He kept stroking and said, "A minute's over. I've flipped the coin. You got heads. Do you have a question for me?"

John was writhing on the sofa now, pulling hard at his hands. "What are you thinking about?" he asked quietly. 

"I am thinking about you touching me, I'm pretending it's you. I love it when you touch me." He let his head dip forward for a second before he stood up and pulled off his trousers. He walked over to the sofa and stood near John. He went back to work on his cock, slowly sliding his hand up and down. "I wish you would touch me, John. I wish it was you. I got tails. That's what I want, John. Put your hands on me for one minute."

"I can't," John reminded him, pulling harder at the tie. "Sherlock, please," he added, looking up at Sherlock. 

"John, please," Sherlock picked up speed a little and slid his other hand between his legs. "The minute's almost up. Please. Just touch me."

John groaned desperately as he pulled hard, feeling his wrists burning against the fabric. "Please . . ." he breathed. 

"The minute's up," Sherlock said, still rubbing his cock. "Your turn. Heads. Do you have a question?" He put his other hand up to John's cheek. "Think carefully."

John stared up at him, trying to read his face and figure out what to ask. Sherlock was saying that for a reason but his mind was not working properly. "Will you let me touch you? Please?"

"No," Sherlock said. "My turn. I got heads. My question is are you really ready for me to untie you or do you want to try to hold out a little longer? When you are ready for me to untie you, say Vatican Cameos. If you say anything else, your hands stay tied. Until I hear that phrase." Sherlock leaned towards John so that his moving hand against his cock was near John's cheek. "Again, think carefully."

John licked his lips, shifting lightly and shaking his head. "I want to hold out a little longer," he said quietly. He flushed as he basically admitted to liking this torture. 

"I like that choice," Sherlock said, leaning down to kiss him. "When you're ready, you know what to say." Sherlock then got on the floor, pushed John's knees apart and began touching his own cock again. "I got heads, John. Here's what I want you to do: for one minute, listen to me explain why that blowjob was my favourite. Of course, it did have something to do with the thrill of Lestrade on the other side of the door, of having to be quiet, of trying to act like nothing was going on. But when I think about it, I think about my leaning against the door, you on your knees and my hand in your hair." Sherlock leaned in, so that his mouth was just inches away from John's cock. "My hand just resting on your head, not pushing, just moving as your mouth moved on me. It was fucking sexy, John. The only thing sexier than that is when you put your hand on my head. Your fingers in my hair, John. You know it, I know you know it -- you know that can push me over the edge. Do it now, John. Put your hands on my head as I suck you." He flicked his tongue and licked John's tip. "Put your fingers in my hair, John. It'll make me come."

John whimpered as Sherlock spoke, pulling hard at the ties. "I want to, Sherlock. I want to touch you and pull your hair." John's wrists were starting to hurt. 

Sherlock sucked the tip into his mouth and swirled his tongue against it. Then he pulled back and used both his hands to tip John's body so he was lying on his side on the sofa. Still on the floor, Sherlock separated John's legs and wrapped his hand around John's balls. He moved his face to John's and said, "What about if I was fucking you? Would you put your hands in my hair then, John? Why do you torture me like this?" He licked John's mouth as he let his fingertips brush against John's opening. "Please, John, I'm not asking much."

John groaned and bucked into Sherlock's mouth, but then he was gone and John was left writhing against his hand. "I want to, Sherlock . . . I want to touch you so badly," he whined pathetically. He was leaking and so hard it was almost painful. He dropped his head onto the cushion. His arms were sore and he couldn't struggle anymore. "Please," he breathed.  

Sherlock brought his hand up to John's face and stroked his cheek. Then he moved it to his own mouth, wetting his finger. He slid it between John's legs and pressed it inside. "Please what?" he whispered against John's mouth. 

"V-vatican Cameos," John mumbled. "I want to touch you. I want you to fuck me and let me pull your hair," he moaned. 

Sherlock slipped his finger from John, got on the sofa over him and reached behind his back. All of John's struggling had tightened the knot but Sherlock got it undone and pulled the belt from John's wrists. He turned John flat on his back and moved between his legs. He reached for the lube in the side table drawer. He grabbed one of John's hands and moved it to John's cock. Then Sherlock poured lube into his hand and moved it over his own cock. "Relax, John, it's okay."

John moaned loudly when his hand finally touched Sherlock. "Fuck me, Sherlock. Please," he begged. 

Sherlock lined himself with John's body and pushed in slowly then leaned over John to kiss his mouth as he began to rock his hips. He then began bucking into John, shaking the sofa. "This has been torture, John," he said. "I don't know how long I'm going to last." He kissed him again and put his mouth on John's neck.

John dug his fingers into Sherlock's hair and tugged a bit hard. "I can't . . . much longer," he moaned, bucking up into Sherlock, pulling his knees back to feel him deeper. 

"I do love that . . . my hair," Sherlock tried to get the words out but his body was using all of his energy to fuck John. His skin was hot on John's and he felt a stretch, a pull within, and he cried out his name and arched as he came, pushing into John.

John groaned and bucked wildly into Sherlock. His cock rocked onto his own stomach and he came hard, shouting out and arching off of the sofa, pulling hard on Sherlock's hair.

Sherlock lay on top of John, their chests heaving against each other. He lifted a hand to John's head to turn it to look at him. He had nothing clever to say so he made a little laugh and said, "Fucking hell, John. That was . . . something else."

John nodded, panting too heavily to speak. He felt like he could melt right into the sofa. Every muscle was throbbing and weak. He was utterly spent. "In-incredible," he stammered.

Sherlock rested his hand on John's shoulder and softly stroked his neck. "When we get in bed, I'll rub your back. You're going to be sore tomorrow. Can we still hire a car though to go to the Cotswolds?"

John nodded with a small chuckle that made him groan softly. "Bring the belt," he murmured, forcing his eyes open to look at Sherlock.

Sherlock smiled. "And you had the cheek to call me a pervert?" He moved his body. "Don't fall asleep here." He reached for John but didn't want to pull on his arms. "I know you want to just lie here but don't. Let's get in bed so you can comfortable and stay like that all night."

"Don't make me move," he murmured, trying to pull Sherlock back. His arms were useless.

"John, listen to me. I am right. Don't get comfortable here. It's two in the morning anyway. I'm going to bed," Sherlock got up from the sofa, kissed John's mouth and went to the kitchen to turn off the light.

"Help me up," he said quietly, shifting to sit up. He winced as he used his arms to hoist himself up and wondered what they would look like in the morning.

Sherlock helped lift John off the sofa. "Do you need me to carry you?" he said smiling. "We may need to rethink this game if you're going to be such a big baby about it afterwards. I played the violin today for the first time in weeks but you don't hear me whinging about how tired my arms are." Sherlock really did love to tease John. He let John lean on him and led him to their bedroom. 

"Very funny," John murmured, leaning against Sherlock. "You should take this as a compliment," he said quietly.

"John, have you met me before? I take everything as a compliment," Sherlock said, smiling. He helped John get into the bed and pulled the covers up. He climbed in the other side and started to rub John's back. "Thank you once again for my present, John," he said quietly, "I love it." 

John smiled, humming as Sherlock rubbed his back. He was already half asleep again.

Sherlock kept rubbing John's back. He could hear John's breathing change and knew he was falling to sleep. Sherlock let his own eyes close. He wondered how long it would take him to drift off. And then the answer came when sleep took him as well.


	7. The Cotswolds

John woke up hours later, pressed up against Sherlock who was still sleeping. He felt a lot better after resting and as he remembered everything he looking at his wrists. There were still red marks but he didn't care. He smiled thinking about it all and then set his hands down again, simply enjoying lying with Sherlock. 

Sherlock felt John's body shift behind his. He was still mostly asleep. He hadn't dreamt or, if he had, he couldn't remember it. He made a humming noise and pushed back a little into John to let him know he was waking up. But he was still too asleep to say anything.

John smiled when he felt Sherlock but he didn't say anything, waiting to see if he was going to wake up or go to sleep again. 

Sherlock stretched his legs a bit. In a sleepy voice, he asked, "How's your body this morning?"

"Much better," John murmured. 

"Will you be able to drive? I booked us a place to stay. We can leave midday," Sherlock said, starting to wake up properly now.

"Yes, I think I can manage that," John smiled. 

"Unless it's midday now. What time is it?" Sherlock turned his body so he was facing John and gave him a kiss. He held John's hands and kissed his wrists lightly. "Are these marks okay? I'm not sure how I feel about them. Do they mean something to you?"

John kissed him back and then smiled when Sherlock kissed his wrists. "I don't mind them," John assured him. "It reminds me of what we did. You enjoyed it, right?" he asked a bit nervously.  

"I very much did, John, you needn't worry about that," he slipped his arms around John's body and pulled it closer to him. "As long as they're okay with you, I won't worry."

John snuggled into his embrace and grinned. "I really love you a lot," he murmured. 

"And why wouldn't you?" Sherlock said. "I am incredibly lovable." He raised his arms and stretched. "I am going to have a shower. Stop being lazy and get up and do something."

"Like have a shower?" he asked, sitting up and stretching. 

"After me. You are much too distracting in the shower. Get your stuff ready and when I'm done you can shower and then we can go. Come on, we are going away. This was your idea," Sherlock got out of bed and headed to the shower. 

John sighed dramatically and lay back. "If you say so," he said.  

Within the hour, they were off. Sherlock played navigator, which he claimed gave him control over the radio as well. "Have you ever been to the Cotswolds?" he asked John.

"No, I haven't," John said as he drove.

"Why did you pick it then?" Sherlock asked.

"You did," John reminded him.

"Did I?" Sherlock said. "I wonder why I did that. Anyway, it looked nice on the website. It doesn't matter really, as long as we're together." Sherlock fussed John's hair as he drove. "That was quite a romantic thing to say, don't you think?"

John smiled. "Yes, it was," he said. "You're so very sweet," he added.

"I am," Sherlock said, now looking out the window. "What are you going to do to reward me for my sweetness?"

"I'm driving so I can't do anything," John laughed lightly. "Now if you were driving . . ." he trailed off.

Sherlock gave John a look. "See? You are ever so filthy, you are. What will you do for me once we arrive?"

"Shut up," John laughed. "And I will do whatever you want," he shrugged.

"You can surprise me. I don't normally like surprises but you seem to be quite good at them," Sherlock touched John's leg lightly.

"I'll start thinking now," John smiled.

Sherlock watched John's face for a few minutes. "You're not thinking of anything new at all, are you? You are thinking about last night. I can tell." Sherlock was smiling.

"I am, too," he argued.

"It's up here," Sherlock said, pointing to the left. "Hmmm . . . I hope this is going to be okay."

John pulled up and they headed to check in. As they walked to the room, Sherlock said, "I didn't really like the look of that couple. Do you think they're up to something?" He carried his violin case but let John carry everything else.

"I'm sure they are fine, Sherlock," John said.

"Maybe," Sherlock said. When they got to their room, Sherlock gently set the case on the table and then flopped onto the bed. "All right then. Surprise me," he said, eyeing John.

John watched him for a moment, thinking about something that would shock him. Then it came to him, and he pushed his way between Sherlock's knees, unbuttoning his trousers. 

Sherlock watched John. He wasn't sure what he was going to do, but he did note the moment the idea, whatever it was, came to John. He smiled inside and waited.

John tugged away his trousers and pants together, rubbing his hands up and down his thighs.

Sherlock shifted as John started to pull off his clothes. Then he leaned back on the bed, smiling as he watched for John's next move.

John leaned down and started kissing his thighs in random spots.

John's hair tickled Sherlock's leg. He didn't want to laugh so instead he just smiled, closed his eyes and enjoyed the feeling of not knowing where John's mouth would move next.

John moved towards his cock, kissing the soft skin above it but moving around it and down his other thigh.

Sherlock sucked in his breath. He loved John's teasing. He could feel pressure starting to build and he slipped his hand to his hip to be closer to John's touch.

"Lift please," John murmured, pushing Sherlock's legs up. When he did John kissed along his inner thigh, avoiding his cock again.

Sherlock obeyed John. He had a feeling that John was going for torture by neglect. He wondered if he would enjoy it as much as John seemed to enjoy it last night.

John reached up and started to stroke him gently, moving his cock up and out of his way. He sucked on Sherlock's balls for a second before, a bit nervously, moving even lower.

"John," Sherlock moaned quietly. "That feels good."

John hummed and continued down, flicking his tongue over Sherlock's entrance. His hand continued to move slowly and he kissed and licked at it. 

Sherlock started to feel a little weak. He shifted on the bed, it felt like he was sinking into it. He slid one hand into John's hair, tangling it. John's mouth was soft and warm and wet. God, it felt good on him.

John pooled up a bit of saliva and licked Sherlock hard, pushing his tongue into him and then coming out to suck and nip and kiss him. Everything was hot and wet and he hummed softly, focusing on moving his hand slowly. 

Sherlock moved his hips, pushing himself against John's tongue. He raised one of his hands to his face, almost to cover it. "John, you are driving me crazy," he whispered.

John gripped a bit tighter but kept the slow pace, now pushing his tongue into Sherlock regularly. 

Sherlock was now bucking into John's hand. He squeezed his eyes closed. It was almost too much, the feel of John's hand, his tongue, it was . . . so much. His skin was hot against all of John's touches. "John," Sherlock whispered, still keeping his eyes closed. "I-I can't take much more. God, I'm . . . I want to come." 

John moaned and brought his free hand up, pushing two fingers into Sherlock along with his tongue. His other hand moved faster on Sherlock's cock. 

Sherlock wasn't sure he could make words at this point, but he honestly felt like he couldn't take much more pleasure. He did his best to raise his head and look down at John. "John," he rasped, "I can't . . . please . . . either fuck me or let me come. It's too . . . good . . .please, John."

"Come," John said against his entrance, licking him hard right up to his balls. 

Sherlock let his head fall back on the bed. He closed his eyes and turned off his mind and just felt. Every movement of John on his body he felt it like it was concentrated. Then the pulse started inside him and pushed its way out of him and he lifted his hips. He felt like he was choking almost, like he couldn't breathe, until he came and fell back onto the bed as if he no longer had an ounce of energy. He wanted to pull John to him, but instead he let his cheek turn against the pillow and he just breathed.

John pulled his mouth away and pumped Sherlock quickly through his orgasm, matching the speed of his other hand. When Sherlock fell limp he gently pulled his fingers out and sat back on his heels. 

When Sherlock had his senses back, he looked up at John, smiling softly and said, "You surprised me." He motioned for John to lie beside him.

John grinned and climbed up onto the bed beside him. "Good," he said. 

Sherlock stretched his body. "Oh my god, John, I am absolutely exhausted now. But I want to kiss some," he turned so their bodies to face each other and slid his arms around John. He moved to kiss his mouth softly.

John turned his head lightly so Sherlock got his cheek. "I-do you want me to brush or . . .?" He flushed as the words came out, not wanting Sherlock to be uncomfortable. 

Sherlock smiled. "If you'd feel more comfortable, you can. It's your mouth. You obviously can do what you like with it. I like all the things you do with it." He snuggled into John's neck.

"I just didn't want you to . . .you know," John said quietly. "Um . . . you enjoyed that, then?"

"Indeed I did," Sherlock said into John's neck. "Did you?"

John nodded. "I liked what it did to you," he admitted. 

"Perhaps later I shall give it a try and see what it does to you," Sherlock's eyes were quite heavy. He realised his bottom half was also a bit cold, which made him want to get into the bed. "John, I could go to sleep. Should I or should we get up and do something Cotswolds-y?"

"You can sleep," John smiled. "We can go out later."

"I changed my mind," Sherlock opened his eyes and shook his head a little. "I can wake myself up. I want to do whatever you are doing. We can stay like this or we could at least go get some wood and make a fire."

"If you want to sleep, I will lay with you," John insisted. "We have four days," he laughed.

Sherlock smiled. "Fair point," he said. "Okay, let's get in the bed though, I'm cold." He slid off his shirt and slipped under the covers. "Mmm . . . this feels good. These are nice sheets. Get in please."

John nodded and climbed under the sheets, pulling Sherlock closer.

"Take your clothes off," Sherlock said. "It's weird you being in bed with clothes on. Especially since I've got none on. Here," he started to unbutton John's shirt for him.

John smiled as Sherlock's fingers worked, unbuttoning his own trousers. When Sherlock pushed his shirt back he helped take it off completely, his trousers following quickly after.  

"Yes, this is definitely better," Sherlock said, weaving his legs with John's. He leaned in to John's mouth, kissing it hard and long, his fingers tangling in the hair on the back of John's head.

John hummed into the kiss, his hand resting on Sherlock's chest. "Shouldn't you be sleeping or something?" John asked between kisses. 

"I think I was just spent," Sherlock said into John's ear as he licked it. "I seem to have recovered. But I'd still like us to stay like this for a bit. Just so you can rest after the drive, obviously." He slid his hands around John and massaged his shoulders as he continued to kiss his mouth.

John merely hummed his response and settled into kissing Sherlock back. 

Sherlock pressed his hips against John's, arching into their kissing. "So far I've greatly enjoyed our holiday," he said. He lightly bit John's bottom lip and pulled back a little. "You made an excellent choice bringing us to the Cotswolds. It's beautiful here."

"You made the choice," John reminded him again. "And it's an excellent choice," he smiled. 

"What? Oh yeah, why do I keep forgetting that?" Sherlock mumbled. "Turn over, please, so I can spoon you."

John smiled and turned around, scooting back against Sherlock and pulled his arm around him. 

Sherlock pushed himself against John's back and held onto John's hand. He kissed John's shoulder and hummed into his skin. Then he moved his hand, with John's, down to John's cock and wrapped his fingers around it. He just held it, without moving, and he kissed John's back and neck.

John hummed softly, and settled back against him, getting comfortable. 

Sherlock's hand began to move slowly on John's cock, caressing more than stroking. "You're soft," he said quietly. "The skin, I mean," he added. He smiled against John's skin.

John smiled and let his eyes fall shut. 

Sherlock kept a steady stroke on John, almost more like a massage than anything else. He could feel John start to stiffen. He loved that moment, it was like a secret only he could be a part of. He continued to lightly kiss John and occasionally licked across his skin. Soon enough, he started to get hard as well but he pulled back his hips slightly. He didn't want to distract himself from making John feel nice.

"Feels nice," John breathed, letting Sherlock control the movement of their hands. 

"Good," Sherlock said, "I like making you feel nice." He did. In many aspects of his life, Sherlock was incredibly selfish; he knew this. But he loved to do things for John -- not just things like this, although he especially liked doing things like this. He lifted his head to reach John's ear and sucked on it. "Are you sleepy now then? Your breathing has slowed. Do you want to take a nap? I can leave you be and just cuddle you."

"I want everything," John sighed, as if this was the hardest decision of his life. "I could nap afterwards, with you," he suggested.  

"Afterwards?" Sherlock laughed. "Hmmm, that implies you are expecting something. I don't know if I can live up to that pressure." He picked up his stroke, a little faster, a little firmer.

"You already are," John hummed softly. 

Sherlock kept his grip on John, whose cock was now damp. He spread the wetness with his fingers so his movement was slicker. Now he let his hips press against John. His cock was hard again and he rocked a little so it rubbed against John's arse. "Is this okay? I just want . . . You just feel good. Do you mind?" 

John shook his head. "I don't mind at all," he breathed, pressing back against him. 

"Don't get your hopes up though," Sherlock said cheekily. "I'm not going to fuck you, I've decided. I'm just going to make you come with my hand and then come against your back. I think that's what I've decided." Sherlock quite frankly did want to fuck John, he pretty much always did. He wasn't even quite sure why he'd decided not to. Perhaps to save it for tonight -- when it could last and then they could fall asleep properly afterwards? He really hadn't thought that clearly before he said it. But now that he had said it, he was going to do it. He picked up the speed of his hand and hips.

"O-okay," John nodded, bucking his hips lightly. For some reason the thought of this happening was hotter than being fucked. They did that all the time. But this would be interesting. 

"And who should come first?" Sherlock asked. "Your choice."

"You, my love," John smiled. "I'd like to feel you come all over me and push me over."

Sherlock slipped his other hand down to his own cock. He did his best to maintain a rhythm on John's cock, but he knew it'd be likely that he'd get slightly distracted. But he tried. He moved his hand a bit on himself, but concentrated more on the friction between his skin and John's. He closed his eyes and thought about what had happened when they first came into the room. John's wet mouth pushing into him, it was an incredible feeling. He thought also about last night, about fucking John on the sofa after the long torture. He wished he could fuck John now, but instead he just imagined it -- as his cock slid against John, he remember the feeling of pushing into him. His breath was quick now. "John," he said softly as his cock began to pulse and spill onto John's skin.

John bucked slightly with Sherlock's hand, his mind racing with thoughts of everything they had done, especially last night. He was moaning and whimpering softly, the heat building quickly in his stomach. And then he felt Sherlock's release against his back. "Oh Sherlock." he moaned, coming into Sherlock's hand, his hips bucking harder. 

Sherlock panted against John's back. His cock was wet and now his hand was as well. "We've made a mess of this bed already," he laughed. He kissed John's shoulder. "I was thinking about what you did to me earlier. And a bit about last night as well. You're so sexy."

John chuckled softly. "I was thinking the same thing," he said. "Everything about you, actually . . . you drive me crazy."

"God, other people must be so jealous of us," Sherlock said as he reached for his abandoned shirt and wiped his hand on it. He balled it up and wiped John's back and his cock, before throwing it across the room. "Maybe that was that couple's problem at the desk? Maybe they saw how sexy we are and knew what we'd get up to and were just jealous."

John laughed. "Yeah, maybe that's it," he agreed. 

"Are we napping now or going out for a walk or something? I actually feel more awake now that I did twenty minutes ago," Sherlock said, sitting up in bed.

"We can go for a walk," John smiled, sitting up as well. "It's very beautiful here," he said. 

"It is," Sherlock said, peering now out the window. All of a sudden, something hit him. "John, we just did all that with the curtains wide open," he said. "If we get any strange looks on our walk, we'll know why. I hope we didn't draw a crowd." He snuck out of bed and tried to pull the curtain closed before he moved to pick up his trousers and get in his bag for a clean shirt.

John couldn't help laughing at the idea. "The couple is going to hate us for sure now," he said. 

"Don't say that, John," Sherlock said. "I don't have a good feeling about them anyway."


	8. A Cotswolds-y Evening

Once he was dressed, Sherlock looked around for something to carry wood in. "I think I saw a wood pile off to the side of the main house. Also, the website said there was a pond somewhere. Let's look for that first."

"Okay," John agreed as he found some fresh clothes to put on. "A little adventure sounds fun," he smiled. 

John and Sherlock headed out. They quickly located the wood pile but decided to stop there on the way back. They walked and found the pond. Sherlock picked up a few stones and challenged John to a stone skipping competition. John won but Sherlock disqualified him for some ridiculous reason, claiming that Cotswolds rules were different. They wandered around the grounds and located a small shop where they bought a pint of milk. Then they returned to the wood pile and got some logs. At this point, Sherlock noticed the couple looking out the windows of the main building. He pointed this out to John.

John looked up to where Sherlock was pointing and saw them both turn away. "That's strange," John said, picking up another piece of wood. "Hey, do you think this is enough?"

"Yes," Sherlock said. "You, I mean, we can always come back for more tomorrow. Shall we take that back and then get in the car to find some food? Let's just get a take away, we can find a proper restaurant tomorrow. I'd like to have an early night," he said, grinning at John.

"Whatever you say, love," he grinned. "Take away sounds great."

"It may have to be fish and chips," Sherlock said, helping John with the basket of wood. They headed back to the room. Once they got back, Sherlock suggested a shower -- but for body cleansing purposes only. "No funny business," he said, smiling as he started to take off his clothes.

"I'll do my best," John laughed, undressing as well. "And fish and chips will be fine," he said. 

The shower was successful with only a minor distraction brought on by Sherlock himself who offered to wash John's back but decided to wash his front instead. Soon they were clean, dressed and back from the chippy was a bag full of greasy food. Sherlock lay a dry towel on the bed and started taking out the food. When John looked confused, "It's a picnic," he said, disappointed John hadn't realised he was trying to be romantic.

"Well, let's have it outside like a proper picnic," he smiled. "It's still nice enough outside."

"All right," Sherlock said, pouting a little. They carried the bag of food and towel outside, but found a little table to sit at instead. Sherlock dumped all the chips onto John's fish, got out his phone and took a picture, and then began picking at them. "I wonder if Mrs Hudson is missing us," he said.

"Probably," John nodded. "But we'll only be a couple days," he smiled. 

"She'll probably just be glad for a few nights of peace and quiet without your moaning in pleasure," Sherlock said. He looked up at John through his hair so John wouldn't see him.

John flushed but smiled wide down at his dinner. "Well, now I can just bother these lovely people," he teased.

"I wonder what noises you will make tonight," Sherlock said, still not looking at John. "I wonder what I should do to make you as noisy as possible." Sherlock shifted on the bench.

"Don't get us kicked out, now," John laughed. 

"Don't worry, I'm keeping my eye on them," he said, glancing at the main house. "Maybe that should be our game -- you keeping as silent as possible? No," he said, "that would be too cruel. And besides, I love your noises. They are very, very sexy."

"Good, because I really don't know how well I could do that," he smiled. 

"Hurry up and finish," Sherlock said impatiently. "I am in the mood to hear some noises. Let's go back in. But brush your teeth first, you're going to have greasy, fishy breath," he teased.

"Hey! We came here for a holiday, yeah? Let's enjoy some of this," he said waving his hand at the view. 

Sherlock stood up and put his hand up to his eyes as if he were shielding the sun. He turned a full 360, nodding as he did. "Okay, I've seen it. Let's go," he said. He was smiling at John.

"Well, let me see it," John said. He stood up and turned very slowly. 

"Nice, eh?" Sherlock said. "The website's got quite a few pictures, if you fancy seeing any of it again." He laughed. "I'm just teasing, John, but we are going to be here for a few days and it's starting to turn a little cold. Wouldn't it be nice to go in and make a fire and lie down by each other?" Sherlock was wearing his sweet face, which he didn't normally put on, but many months ago, John had commented on it so he had filed away that information for future reference.

John laughed and turned to face Sherlock. "Yes, all right," he said. "Let's go inside."

Sherlock gathered up their rubbish and headed inside. "Do you know how to make a fire? It seems like the kind of thing you'd be expert on," he asked. "I, on the other hand, will get the bed ready because that's the sort of thing I'm expert on. We can lie in it and watch the fire. Since there's no telly, I figured you'd need to watch something before going to sleep," he teased.

"I don't need to watch something to fall asleep, Sherlock. I'm sure you will tire me out," he smiled. 

"That is the plan," Sherlock said, sneaking the lube into the beside drawer. He fluffed the pillows a bit, straightened the cover. Then he walked over to John by the fire. He sat down in a nearby chair and smiled. "It's lovely. It's nice here, really. I kind of like being away from home. Being away from the usual -- sometimes it can be good."

John smiled and sat on the ground, leaning his back against Sherlock's legs. "It is nice to get away," he agreed. "I like going on holiday with you." 

"Do you think we're different when we're away?" Sherlock asked softly.

"Less distracted, I think," John answered honestly. 

"But overall, we're still the same? You don't love more in the Cotswolds than you do in London, right?"

"I love you more with each passing day and it doesn't matter where we are," John said, smiling up at him. 

Sherlock flushed slightly because he could tell John really meant what he said, even though it sounded like the kind of thing one might find on the inside of a greeting card. "Good," he said, letting his hand fiddle with John's hair. "I feel similarly."

John smiled wider because that was such a Sherlock way to say it. "Well, that's good."

Sherlock sat quietly for a little bit. He liked the silence and the warmth and John against his legs. Finally, he said, "It's hard to believe that at one point in my life, I did not know you."

John nodded. "You know, I tried to run away from Mike that day," he said quietly. 

"Lucky for your limp, I guess," Sherlock said. He thought for a minute before adding, "There were many variables that day. But everything aligned, I suppose." Sherlock dropped his hand onto John's shoulder.

John turned sideways a bit and lay his head on Sherlock's knee. "I'm very grateful for that," he smiled. 

"I am as well," Sherlock said, smiling down at John. "I didn't really think anything like this would be a part of my life. But I'm glad it is, John. I am."

John nodded. "I hate to think I almost didn't have you because of something silly like labels."

"Or your stubbornness . . ." Sherlock smiled. "Yes, I'm glad that's no longer an issue. There's lots of nice stuff we would have missed out on." He raised an eyebrow and smiled.

John grinned. "Yes, I suppose so," he agreed. 

"I'd like to put my arms around you now," Sherlock said, "but I don't think there's enough room on the chair. Shall we lie on the bed or we could pull the blanket down on the floor and lie closer to the fire? That would be quite romantic, but it might not be good for your back." 

"My back is fine," John said with mock offense. "And I think that would be very romantic," he smiled. 

Sherlock got up and pulled the blanket from the bed and grabbed a couple pillows. He threw them on the floor. He sat down first and then leaned back onto one of the pillows. "Come on then, pop down here if your back is just fine." He lifted the blanket so John could slide under.

John crawled over to him and lay beside him, turning to face the fire. "There," he smiled.

"No," Sherlock said. "Lie on your back. For some reason, I'd like to lie on top of you for a bit. I just . . . feel like I want to."

"Okay," John nodded. He fixed the pillow and lay comfortably, tugging Sherlock down lightly.

Sherlock shifted his body so his weight was on John. Their faces were close, and Sherlock leaned down and kissed his mouth softly.

John closed his eyes and enjoyed the soft kissing.

"Keep your eyes closed for a minute," Sherlock said softly. "I want to tell you something. I love you very much. I love you in London and here. I do, John. I love everything about knowing you." He kissed him once again. 

"I love you, too," John murmured. "Very much."

"Thank you," Sherlock said. "I don't want things to change."

"It won't. Ever," John assured him.

"Close your eyes again," Sherlock said. Once he had, Sherlock said quietly, "John, you cannot guarantee that. No one can. That's the way the world works. What I'm trying to say is, I don't want things to change and I want to do what I can to keep things like they are. Promise to help me when I need help, okay? Tell me when I need to do something differently. We can't guarantee that things won't change but I want to . . . try." 

John couldn't help opening his eyes and cupping his cheek. "Is something going on? Are you okay?"

"Everything is good, John," Sherlock met John's eyes. "Honestly. I guess I'm just feeling a little . . . I don't know. I've just been thinking. I'll try to stop," he smiled softly. "It's just so nice being here with you."

"Thinking about what?" John asked. "How are you feeling?" 

"Thinking about how lucky I am, how grateful I am. That's all, I promise." He leaned it to give him another kiss.

John smiled softly. "Okay, good," he said relieved. "I love you."

"I love you too," Sherlock said. "I love kissing as well." Sherlock kissed John's neck. "And other stuff. I love that, too. Can we do some other stuff now, please?"

"You're the one that started this deep conversation," John laughed, pulling him down for a proper kiss.

Sherlock laughed, "John, all of my conversations are deep. We need to take off our clothes. I am going to take your clothes off." He shifted his body and then sat up and helped John pull off his jumper. "Lie back down," he said as he unbuttoned John's shirt and opened it. He kissed his chest. Then he started to unbutton John's jeans and then said, "Lift up." 

John lifted his hips for Sherlock, smiling up at him and feeling so happy to be with him. "Do I get to take your clothes off?" He asked, reaching for Sherlock's shirt.

"I was hoping you might," Sherlock said, smiling. He watched John's face as he unbuttoned his shirt.

John smiled and pulled his shirt off completely, moving down to his trousers.

Sherlock shifted to help John. Soon they were both bare and they snuggled down together under the blanket. "I'm freezing now," Sherlock said, although freezing was an exaggeration. Soon enough, though, his skin had adjusted to being exposed. Sherlock pressed John onto his back. "I'm going to kiss your body now," Sherlock said. He began by kissing John's temple, a soft kiss. Then he moved to his forehead and his cheeks. When he moved to his mouth, he kissed more loosely, letting his tongue sneak in. Then he trailed it down John's neck and began kissing his collarbones.

"I love when you explain things," John murmured with a smile. His hands moved lazily up and down Sherlock's back. He loved how Sherlock's mouth felt . . . so beautiful and light against his skin. 

Sherlock then moved to John's shoulder, licking and kissing. His mouth moved down one of John's arms. He held John's hand in his own and licked down, pausing to kiss at the inside of John's elbow. Then he licked and kissed John's wrist, a bit gingerly around the red marks. He kissed John's palm and then licked up each finger, kissing and sucking his finger tips. Then he lifted John's hand into Sherlock's hair as he leaned over and began kissing John's chest.

John was already moaning softly with each new spot Sherlock moved to, his mouth diligently getting every inch. It was blissful torture. He was eager to do the same but tried to be patient. 

Sherlock flicked his tongue over each of John's nipples. Then he trailed his tongue down the center of John's chest to his navel and swirled around it. Sherlock shifted his body and moved down to John's feet. He kissed John's ankles. As he did, he slid his hands up John's legs. He pulled them apart just enough to slip in between them. He bent one of John's legs and licked the bend behind John's knee. He repeated it on the other leg. Then he laid them back down and kissed the insides of John's thighs.

"Sherlock . . ." John moaned, unable to help writhing beneath him. The buildup was slow, waves of heat running through his body over and over as he slowly got harder and harder. His hands became aggressive in their traveling, pressing into Sherlock's skin. 

Sherlock moved to flick his tongue against John's cock. It was hard and hot. "I want to put this in my mouth," Sherlock said, before lifting and tipping it in. He pressed it back towards his throat, before pulling away, sucking and curling his tongue around it.

"That feels so good . . ." John moaned loudly. His fingers tangled in Sherlock's hair and he held on tightly as he felt himself leaking into Sherlock's mouth. 

Sherlock could taste John on his tongue. "I love this taste," Sherlock said, "It means that you feel good, I've made you feel good, that's all I ever want to do, John." Sherlock slid his mouth around John again, and moved up and down. He wanted to see John's face, but instead he concentrated on trying to bring him pleasure. He could feel himself grow hard at John's noises and the feeling of his hand in Sherlock's hair.

John could only whimper a response back, bucking into Sherlock's mouth and lightly pulling on his hair each time. He didn't have words to describe how good Sherlock's mouth felt. Hot, wet -- everything was so good.

Sherlock moved on John a few more times. Then he pulled back and sat up. Although he kept his fingers wrapped around John, he turned his body and then lay down next to him. He squeezed against John's side; his own cock pressed against John's hip. But he stopped all movement. He rested his head on John's shoulder.

John took deep slow breaths, trying to come down from the high Sherlock gave him so that they could be equal. He didn't want this to end too quickly.  

"It's nice, isn't it?" Sherlock said. "Just feeling good, letting everything feel good. Let's enjoy this. More will come for both of us, but let's enjoy this. I've never done this with anyone else. It's just ours."

"It is good," John nodded. "I like that it's ours . . . I like sharing it with you," he murmured. 

Sherlock moved his hand from John's cock to his chest and kissed him softly on the mouth. But the kiss turned more intense and he stayed with it. This moment was as intimate as any they'd shared so far.

John kissed him back, holding back a moan. Their lips moving together this way sent chills through his body.

"You know what else is good?" Sherlock asked.

"What's that?" John murmured. 

"Fucking," said Sherlock, matter-of-factly. "Should we have some of that now?" He was trying to keep a straight face, as if he were proposing a cup of tea and biscuits.

"That does sound pretty good," John smiled. "Yes, please."

"And should I get the belt?" Sherlock said as his hand drifted back to John's cock. "I will if you want me to."

"Only if you want to," John said, kissing him softly. "It doesn't always have to be like that," he murmured. 

"What I'd like," Sherlock said, "is to get on the bed now. The floor is actually hurting my back." He started to stand up and pull the blanket from John. "Maybe another log on the fire so it stays warm?" He moved over to the bed.

John laughed and stood up, putting another log on the flames and using the poker to settle it in place. When it caught fire, he moved to the bed and climbed in. 


	9. Something New

"I'm still cold," Sherlock said, and he dove under the covers head first. He moved his body down and lifted one of John's hips to encourage him to lie on his side. He faced John's soft cock and began licking it. Even though the temperature was really just an excuse to get in this position, Sherlock slid his feet under the pillow because they were a bit cold. Already under the blanket, though, the rest of Sherlock's body was getting very warm.

John moaned softly and shifted slowly, bringing his head level with Sherlock's cock. "We've never tried this before," he murmured, kissing Sherlock's cock lightly. 

"I thought we probably should," Sherlock said. From this angle, Sherlock believed it'd be much easier to take more of John in his mouth. He wrapped his lips around him and slowly slid down, pressing in with his tongue. He pushed John all the way in, swallowing to the base and held him for as long as he could before he lifted up to breathe for a second. He did this over and over again until John's cock was slick with his spit. He brushed his hand against it, then reached for John's balls, wetting them. At the same time, he felt himself get hard at the touch of John's mouth. There was a lot going on in that bed. Sherlock couldn't really see anything, but everything was hot and wet and smelled of sex. 

John moaned as Sherlock moved, taking more of Sherlock into his mouth. He bobbed regularly, gripping his thigh and massaging lightly as he moved. 

Sherlock kept working on John's cock but let one of his hands slip down his body to John's face. He brushed against his own cock as it slid into John's mouth. This made an electricity shoot through him and his hips began to move, ever so slightly. He tried not to buck into John, but he could not stop them from moving with the movement of John's mouth.

John slid his hand until he found Sherlock's and he laced their fingers together, moaning as he swirled his tongue around his tip. 

Sherlock tried to imagine what they looked like. They were so connected -- their hands together, each of their bodies inside the other's. It must be beautiful. What he saw in his head was.

John felt heat pooling and he tried to convey that without moving away. He bobbed faster, hollowing his cheeks around Sherlock and squeezing his hand. 

Suddenly it all started to feel too much for Sherlock. He felt drenched in wetness and the heat from their bodies, combined with the fire, made him feel almost like he couldn't breathe under the covers. He pulled his body from John's and turned himself round so he was lying next to John. He leaned over to speak into John's ear. "I would like to fuck you now. And for some reason, I'd really like to fuck you hard. I don't want it to hurt you, but I want it to go right up to that line. I don't know why exactly, but I want to."

John shuddered at the sudden hot breath in his ear and he nodded quickly. "That's okay," he breathed. "That sounds hot," John said turning to kiss his mouth hard. 

"Turn over and get on your hands and knees," Sherlock said. "And one more thing, don't touch yourself. I don't want you to come until I say, okay?" Sherlock reached for the lube in the drawer and began stroking himself, getting slick. 

"Okay," John nodded, turning onto his hands and knees. After a second he dropped to his elbows so he could be a bit more exposed and so it would be harder to touch himself. 

Sherlock moved behind John. He leaned down and licked him, just as John had done to him earlier. He pushed his tongue in and out a few times, and then he said, "No fingers first. Relax yourself, but tell me if it hurts and you want me to stop. I don't want to be worrying, I just want to fuck you hard. Do you promise you'll let me know?" He dribbled some lube between John's cheeks and rubbed against his hole, making everything even wetter.

John squirmed against his tongue, moaning a soft yes. He was imagining this happening and he was getting even harder. That was the effect Sherlock had on him, even with just words.  

Sherlock lined up his cock and pushed in -- harder and faster than he usually did, but not too roughly. He didn't go all the way; even though he said he didn't want to be worrying, he was a little. He paused for a moment and when he felt John's body relax slightly, he bucked and pushed all the way in. He quickly started thrusting, pounding into John's body which tightened around his cock. It felt so good.

John grunted softly with each push, his face pressing rhythmically into the mattress. "S-so g-good," he moaned. 

Sherlock kept bucking until he ached to come. Then he gained control of himself, ever so slowly pulling almost all the way out before thrusting in hard again. He did this a few more times and then let himself pull all the way out. "Turn over," he said, "I want to see your face as I do this." Sherlock moved off of the bed and placed a couple pillows near the edge. "Move your body here so your hips are higher."

John was panting and hot and so wonderfully sore as he moved where Sherlock wanted him. He propped his hips up and pulled his knees for Sherlock. "I'm open," he mumbled. "Hard . . . please."

"Put your hands above your head," his voice was now quite serious and commanding. He leaned over John's bent knees so they were pressed against his chest. This time Sherlock did use two fingers, just to curl them and press against John's prostate. Then he slipped them out again and pushed his cock in hard. He slammed his body into John's, just letting go. He did his best to keep his eyes open to watch John's face, but a few times they closed and instead he just concentrated on the feeling. It was instinctual. He heard grunts coming from his own mouth. Despite being in charge, Sherlock realised he actually felt powerless: he had no choice now, he was going to keep fucking John hard until he exploded inside him.

John called out when Sherlock prodded that bundle of nerves, remembering as Sherlock pushed into him that he liked the noise. So he didn't bother to hold back anything, not caring about who might hear him. He shouted and begged and moaned, calling out for Sherlock loudly. 

Sherlock's body kept pumping into John. He could no longer keep his eyes open. He had one arm wrapped around John's leg, pulling John's body into him. "Hold my hand," he said and reached for John's hand which he squeezed. "Now tighten your muscles," Sherlock begged.

John gasped out a breath as he tried to make himself focus on what Sherlock was saying. He gripped Sherlock's hand and nodded, taking a few seconds before squeezing around Sherlock. 

The change in pressure pushed Sherlock over the edge. With each pulse of his cock, he crashed into John, trying to get further and further inside. His head was bent over, he couldn't lift it to look at John. "Don't move," he said. He stayed still inside John until he felt one more urge and pressed in again before slowly withdrawing. All of a sudden he realised how weak his legs felt and he slumped down onto the bed. He tried to speak but felt like he couldn't, so he touched John's shoulder to encourage him to move up closer to Sherlock.

John whimpered at his command, his own so hard now that it was almost painful. He grunted with the last of Sherlock's thrusts and was panting heavily when he lay down beside him. Had he forgotten? "Sh-Sherlock?" he breathed, turning to face him. "Can I touch now? P-Please?" 

Sherlock carefully reached down for John's hand and moved it to John's hard cock. He nuzzled against John's ear. "Make yourself come," he said quietly, "but as you do, talk to me. Tell me what was in your head, tell me what that felt like."

John whimpered at the touch and nodded. "It f-felt so good," he breathed. "So f-full and . . .and hard." He paused, bucking into his own hand. He could hardly form words. He pictured it all -- Sherlock pounding into him -- and he came hard into his hand, groaning and calling out loudly. 

Sherlock leaned over and kissed John's mouth. "Good, good, good," he mumbled into John's mouth as he felt John's body jerk from his orgasm. "I want you to feel everything always," he said, even though he wasn't sure what that meant. He leaned back on the bed as John caught his breath. "I'm so tired, John. My body . . . it's . . . I can barely move it."

John couldn't even move to kiss him back. "Let's sleep," he breathed. His eyes closing of their own accord. They could talk in the morning.  

"Yes," Sherlock said curling around him. He pulled the blanket over them and his eyes closed.

John curled into him and sighed softly. "I love you," he murmured, letting sleep take him. 


	10. Memories

When Sherlock opened his eyes, the first thing he noticed was the smell. What had smelled quite sexy last night, now seemed to hang in the room and almost cloud his eyes. He snuck from bed and opened the window. The morning air seemed relatively warm and the sun was shining. Sherlock stood for a moment, listening to the birds and all the sounds that weren't London. Then he moved into the bathroom and stepped into the shower.

There was a knock at the door, but Sherlock could not hear it.

The knock startled John awake and he looked around confused, wondering where Sherlock was. He threw on his pajama pants and went to open the door.

The couple from the main house were on the other side. The woman said, "I'm sorry. We didn't mean to wake you," but her husband interrupted her more gruffly asking, "You're not Holmes, are you? Where's the other one?" The wife gave John an apologetic look.

"I'm sorry, what's this about?" John asked, subtly closing the door a bit more to limit their view into their room.

"Are you the brother then?" the man asked.

The woman held up her hand to her husband. "I'm sorry," the wife said. "I'm sorry for my husband. We were just wondering if the Sherlock Holmes who rented this room is the one whose brother has an equally . . . unusual name. We can't remember it exactly -- I think it starts with an M, he thinks an N."

"Are you looking for Mycroft? He's not here," John said.

"Mycroft! I told you!" the wife said, hitting her husband on the arm. She smiled at John. "No, no, no, we're not looking for anyone. We just wondered if we had the right Sherlock Holmes. That's it," she said, turning to leave. "We're sorry to have disturbed you." She started to walk away. The man took one look more look at John and followed his wife.

"Oh, okay," John said as he shut the door. He stood at the door and processed all of that before going back to bed and flopping down on it. He hadn't been ready to get up yet but he doubted he'd fall back asleep.

Sherlock came out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel. He saw that John was awake and leaned over to kiss him. "Tea?" he asked, flopping onto the bed. "Have you made it?"

"No, I just woke up," he said, turning to fully face Sherlock. "The neighbours stopped by, arguing over Mycroft's name," he smiled.

Sherlock sat up quickly. "The suspicious couple? What did they want? Tell me exactly." He looked very worried.

"I-they said they recognised you but couldn't remember your brother's name so they came over to ask and settle their argument," John said.

"From what did they recognise me?" Sherlock said. "Think very carefully, John, please remember."

"I assumed from seeing you around here," John said. "They didn't say -- what's wrong?"

"I don't know," Sherlock said. "How would they know about my brother? I knew, I knew. I just don't know what." Sherlock walked around the room, trying to think.

John watched him and tried to keep quiet even though questions were threatening to overflow his mind.

"Their faces . . . they looked familiar . . . where? Where? Where?" He flicked through his memories but too many were cloudy. "John," he said. "What should we do? Should we go home?"

"Are we in danger?" John asked, moving towards him.

There was a knock at the door. Sherlock looked at John. How was this happening? They had come to the Cotswolds of all places, for a holiday, and now something -- he didn't know what -- was happening. Sherlock walked to the door and opened it.

The couple were standing on the other side. "Sherlock, Mr Holmes," the woman said. "I can't believe it's you. You're so . . . tall now. Do you remember us?"  
  
Sherlock said nothing.

The woman went on, "It's okay. You were so young, there's no reason you'd remember us. We're the Allens. Your family stayed with us, we used to own a different place, when was it, Terry? Oh, it was years ago, you were a boy, you and your brother. Sherlock and Mycroft, how could we forget?" During her speech, her husband stood awkwardly and silently at the door. "Anyway," she said, reaching into her pocket, "we found this." She handed Sherlock a photograph. "We thought you might like to have it. Anyway, so sorry to have disrupted you this morning. I think we woke your friend up." She looked around Sherlock at John. "Sorry again," she called. "Let's go, Terry." They left. Neither Sherlock nor John had said anything the entire time. Sherlock palmed the photograph and walked over to his bag and slipped it in, without looking at it.

"What did they give you?" John asked softly, seeing the way Sherlock reacted to it. It was odd to think about that part of Sherlock's life. The two of them as children, having a life that wasn't this.

"I don't know," Sherlock said. "I don't feel like looking at it. I don't . . . know what to think." He sat down on the chair. "This doesn't feel like a good surprise, John," he said quietly to the floor.

John moved to sit next to him. "Who are they exactly?" He asked gently.

"I've no reason to disbelieve what she says," Sherlock said, still looking at the floor. "I suppose that's why their faces seemed familiar. I suppose we did go on holiday. We must have. I suppose I must remember."

John reached out and touched his arm. "Are you okay?" he asked.

Sherlock looked up at John. "Yes, I'm okay," he said. "Yes, I am. At least I don't have to worry about them now. Let's get back to our holiday." He stood up from the chair. "Just strange really," he said, stretching and then looking down at himself. "Strange also that the whole thing happened while I was nude except for this towel." He smiled at John.

John smiled and rolled his eyes playfully. "It's nothing bad, right? Just old friends?"

"I must have been five or six. They probably saw me nude then anyway. I didn't always love wearing clothing when I was small." He started getting dressed. "Anyway, no matter. It's unlikely they'll bother us again, and I am done thinking and talking about it. Additionally you appear to have dried come on your stomach. That might be fine in front of guests, but quite frankly I find it very offensive." He smiled. 

John's face flushed and he buried it in his hands. "I answered the door like this," he groaned. No wonder the husband kept looking at him funny. "Oh my God…"

Sherlock laughed. "Shameful!" Sherlock threw his wet towel at John. "Go shower. We're supposed to be holidaying. Wash and get dressed and we'll go holiday our hearts out."

"It's your fault!" John laughed, running to the bathroom and shutting the door before he could be attacked again.

Sherlock waited until he heard John turn on the shower. He reached over to his bag and looked at the photograph. Yes, it was Sherlock and Mycroft. Somewhere inside his brain he remembered. It was a nice memory, one of the few he had, though there must have been others. Something after that had changed. He put the picture back into his bag, zipping it into an inside pocket. For a second, he felt like he wanted to smoke a cigarette. Instead he walked to the bathroom door and knocked softly. "John? Can I come in and help you, please?"

"Thank God you're here because I've got no idea what I'm supposed to be doing in this shower," John exaggerated. He hurried up and sat on the floor of the tub so he'd look even sillier when Sherlock came in.

Sherlock opened the door. He smiled at John. "I know you are mocking me," he said, "but I don't care. Have you washed your hair yet? Shall I help with that? Have you shaved? Shall I take a razor to your pretty face?" He knelt down next to the bath.

"I'll shave, thanks," John laughed.  "I haven't done my hair, though, or my belly," he grinned.

"Let me wash your hair. I'm going to get all wet, though," so he took off his shirt and leaned into the bath a bit. He poured some shampoo into his hand and lathered John's hair. He gave him a little head massage as well. "You are so pretty, you know," he said.

John chuckled at his choice of wording. "We should take a bath together one day," he said.

"Let's tonight. This is a good sized bath, we should both fit in. Now that I've seen you sitting in it, I see you don't take up much room," Sherlock teased as he directed the shower spray, trying to avoid it spraying on him. "Wash your belly now, quit dawdling. We should get out of here and do something."

"Okay," John agreed, closing his eyes against the water and soap. Then he flicked water at him for his teasing before lathering his stomach.

"Oi you," Sherlock said. "Get out now. I want to watch you dry off." Sherlock set the lid down on the toilet and sat patiently waiting.

John finished rinsing off and got out of the tub, making a slow show out of drying himself off, grinning the whole time.

"You missed a spot," Sherlock pulled John to him and turned him around. He licked the small of his back, slowly across and then up. "There you go," he said, standing to rush out of the room. 

"You've dirtied me up again!" John called out laughing, wiping the spot off before going to get dressed. He put on jeans and a cotton long sleeve shirt. 

Once John had his clothes on, Sherlock started to take his own off. He didn't say anything as he unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it from his arms. He looked at John and then looked over at the bed. On John's pillow lay Sherlock's dressing gown belt. "Thirty minutes," Sherlock said, "we'll go get lunch then, I promise." By now he was nude and he slipped under the covers.

"Sherlock, I just got dressed," he said. "And clean."

"Get undressed. And dirty. Come on, John, we're on holiday," Sherlock pleaded. "You don't want me to pout, do you?" He slid his hand under the covers to touch himself, making the action as obvious as possible.

John bit his lip and sighed, quickly taking off his clothes again and crawling to Sherlock over the covers. "You are something else," he smiled. 

"I know," Sherlock said, "now listen to me. Slide down a little and put your hands above your head."

John did as he was told, lifting his arms up above him. His stomach flipped excitedly about what might be coming.

Sherlock tied the belt around John's wrist and then knotted it to the headboard. "Don't struggle this time," he said, quietly. "It's not going to be like before and it's not going to be like last night. It's going to be soft this morning. You're going to get everything you want, you just have to lie there, okay?" He kissed John's mouth and ran his tongue to his ear. He traced the lobe and sucked it gently into his mouth.

"Okay," John breathed. "Will I get to touch you later?" he asked quietly.  

"Shush," Sherlock said, "I said lie there, not ask questions." He smiled at John before moving to straddle his body. He reached for John's hands and then rubbed down each arm and across John's shoulders. When his hands met, they rubbed around John's neck and then moved down the middle of his chest. Sherlock shifted down John's body and gripped John's cock. He began a steady stroke, occasionally bending over to flick his tongue over the tip. He looked up at John. "I can't stop looking at you," Sherlock said, "everything about you is . . . sexy." He slipped John's cock into his mouth for a second to wet it and then used his hand again.

"I think you have me confused for the man over there," he said, tilting his head towards a mirror on the wall which was currently reflecting mostly Sherlock and then John's legs. 

Sherlock turned to look at the mirror. "You know," he said quietly, stopping his movement for a moment, "I think you might be right. I am quite sexy, aren't I?" Still looking at the mirror, he slid John's cock back into his mouth and hummed. Then he lifted his head and looked at John, smiling. His hand went back to John's cock and Sherlock leaned over his body to give John a long kiss on the mouth. 

John grinned and nodded as Sherlock spoke. When they were kissing, he instinctively pulled his hands, wanting to touch his cheeks and his hair.  

"No," Sherlock said. "That's not allowed this morning." He moved to lie on his side, facing John. "Turn over on your side away from me," he said. "Twist the belt, not your wrists." Sherlock helped John shift so Sherlock was spooning him. He turned to the bedside table, got the lube and poured some in his hand before reaching around John's body and going back to John's cock. Sherlock licked and kissed the back of John's neck and shoulders. 

"I don't even get to look at you?" John murmured, shuddering lightly at the soft kisses. 

"Look in the mirror if you want, I shan't stop you," Sherlock said, biting softly into the muscles on John's back. He let out a small moan and pushed his hips against John. His rhythm on John's cock was firm and steady but achingly slow.

John moaned softly and shifted his body a bit. "I can only . . .see our legs."

"Move down a little, if you want, but don't pull too hard on your arms." Sherlock slid his hand from John's cock to his hip and down his thigh so it was reflected in the mirror. Then his hand moved behind John to his own cock. He reached for the lube and tipped out a little more and slicked himself. Then he moved his hand between John's cheeks and over his hole. "Are you too sore? Be honest," he said as he brushed his wet fingertips back and forth over it.

John shook his head. "Just a little," he admitted with a small whimper. He knew he wouldn't need too much preparation after everything they'd been doing. 

"I'll make it very wet, but tell me if it hurts," he slid two fingers into John and pulsed them, curling slightly. Sherlock moved his hip so he could rock against his own hand, each movement pressing his fingers further in. He moved his other hand up John's arm and weaved his fingers with John's. "God," he moaned softly.

John nodded breathlessly. "I love when we hold hands this way," he admitted. 

Sherlock moved his fingers out of John and back to his own cock. He stroked a few times and then lined himself up. He pushed into John, slowly, gently -- although he had an urge to move harder and faster, this way he felt every single bit of the movement, the tightness. When he was about half way in, he said "You okay?" in a breathy rasp.

John nodded quickly, and let out a hard breath. "I'm okay," he murmured. He could feel every inch sinking into him. 

Sherlock slipped his hand around John's hip and held his cock again. He didn't move. He thought about all the ways he was connected to John -- his hand in John's hand, his other on John's cock, his own cock inside John. He leaned his head and just put his mouth on John's neck, moving it over his skin. And then slowly he began to rock his hips and move his hand on John's cock. Both movements were steady but slow. Each time he pushed in to John, he went a little deeper. He squeezed John's hand. 

John moaned softly with each movement. He really did love Sherlock so much. Fast, slow, hard, just laying still, holding his hand -- everything he could possibly do made John so very happy. 

"I'd like to stay like this as long as possible," Sherlock breathed out. "But at some point my body's going to need more. When your body needs more, tell me and I'll go faster." Sherlock could feel something building within him -- an urge that was purely physical and would eventually overrule the more emotional desire he had to move slowly and gently. Soon he would need to move faster and harder, but he tried to make this last because it was different and nice. 

John nodded, trying to control his breathing so they could enjoy this moment and stay like this for as long as Sherlock wanted. But having Sherlock inside of him and barely moving was very strange. He didn't mind for now.

Sherlock's body was warm against John's. He shifted slightly to get a new angle that made pushing in slowly easier. He also did his best to get a slow but steady rhythm going on John's cock. He noticed that his own forehead was damp with sweat, which seemed strange since he was barely moving. The urge, though, was growing. Despite what his brain wanted, his body wanted to buck into John, move in and out and then explode. He tried to concentrate instead on the hand that was holding John's. He used his index finger to trace down and back up each of John's fingers, while he tried to keep the rest of his body's movements slow and deliberate.

John hummed at the movement of Sherlock's hand, bringing his focus there as well. Such an intimate thing to do and John loved it so much. A crazy idea entered his mind, but that could wait until later. He moved slightly against Sherlock and gripped his hand harder.

"John," Sherlock said softly. "I'm sorry, I'm going to have to move a bit more." He was aching now and even though he tried to enjoyed the ache, he was finding it too difficult. He started to move his hips. This movement explained the sweat on his brow: he had been exerting so much energy in not moving, this change released the tension he had been holding. He let it go, let his hips move as they needed to as he pushed harder into John.

John laced their fingers together and moaned loudly. "It's okay," he breathed. He curved his body to enjoy a deeper feeling, grunting softly with each movement. "Feels . . . so . . .good," he murmured.

Any thought Sherlock had now of being delicate and precise was irrelevant. His body thrust into John. Though he had stopped moving on John's cock, he still held it and John's hand. He let out a small moan and came into John hard. Before he even caught his breath, he did his best to focus on John's cock, stroking it quickly. He moved his mouth to John's ear, breathing into it as he kissed and sucked it.

John whimpered and came into Sherlock's hand, too worked up to wait any longer. He pulled at his wrists but nothing like the night before. He was calling Sherlock's name with every breath.

Sherlock lay against John as they caught their breath. He wiped his hand on the blanket before letting it lightly travel across John's chest and arms. Then he shifted up and untied the belt, helping John lower his arms to his sides. He leaned over and kissed John's cheek. "Turn and face me," he requested softly. 

John nodded and turned to face Sherlock pecking soft kisses on his face. The words pooled on his tongue and the nervous flip of his stomach made him bite them back. He swallowed hard and tried to calm himself down.

"I love you," Sherlock said as he slid his arms around John's back and pulled him into him. "I love all the things we do," he closed his eyes, "even though they sometimes make me feel very exhausted. They're all . . . just. . . good."

John looked down at the mattress. "Will you marry me?" he mumbled, feeling the heat flood into his cheeks.

Sherlock smiled within himself. And then he smiled at John. "Are you letting being on holiday go to your head? That's a very big question, John." He was still smiling.

John almost laughed. He should have known better than to expect a straight answer. "I love you," he said looking up. "I know I'm going to be with you for the rest of my life -- I hope so anyways -- so I just want to make it official," he said. Then, to lighten the mood a bit he added, "I promise I'll get you a ring."

Sherlock squeezed John again. "You don't have to buy me another present, John. That said, I'm not against rings. I'm not even against marriage, though I've never really imagined myself in one." He swallowed. He stayed pressed against John, mostly so he could keep his head resting against his neck rather than look at him. He was trying to be honest and didn't want John to misread anything in his face. He and John had very different backgrounds and were, truthfully, very different in many ways. He hoped John would listen to the words.

"Apparently I am sweet and loveable in the Cotswolds, but being married isn't like being on holiday. Perhaps you might want to ask me again once we're home in London and I am ruining movies and pouting and making messes that I refuse to clean up. I think also it might be good if you considered asking the question when you've gone at least 24 hours without having a belly covered in come." Sherlock leaned back and looked into John's eyes. He smiled and kissed John's mouth softly.

"I know that I'm still going to want to then," John laughed softly. "But I'll wait if you really want me to."

"Okay then, that's settled, you can ask me again then," Sherlock said, trying not to grin even though he wanted to. He glanced at the clock. "Though if you are going to be my husband one day, you'll need to do a little better at taking care of me. It's two in the afternoon, John, and you've yet to get me my breakfast."

John's mouth fell open. "You're the one that insisted on yet another shag before we left. And you promised me food after."

"Bicker, bicker, bicker, John," Sherlock said. "You should know by now that in a relationship, being right isn't the most important thing. The most important thing is pretty much just that I always get what I want." He stood up and stretched. "You're messy again. We each get two minutes in the shower and then that's it. I mean it this time," he said in mock seriousness.

"Yeah right," John laughed. "I'll believe it when I see it -- especially since you got it all over my back," he said as he sat up.

"Fine, we can get in together and I'll clean you up, but don't be extra cute in there. In fact, I think I shall keep my eyes closed the whole time so you can't distract me," Sherlock said as he went to turn on the shower, hoping there'd still be enough hot water.

"You'll miss a spot acting like that," John laughed, following him into the tub.

Sherlock uncharacteristically actually made use of the shower for its actual purpose: he washed John's back and cleaned himself and stepped out quickly to dry off. "Let's drive instead of walk," he said as he got dressed again. "We can find a cafe, I actually do fancy a breakfast."

"Okay," John agreed, getting dressed quickly in the same clothes he'd set aside.


	11. A Dinner Date

They did find a cafe pretty quickly. They ordered their breakfasts and sat down by the window with cups of tea. Sherlock suggested that after breakfast they walk around the village, which they did. He used his phone to take a few pictures. On the way back, Sherlock pointed out a restaurant where they could get dinner.

As they entered the room, Sherlock said, "John, I'd like to take a nap. And by nap I really do mean sleep. You know sleep rarely comes easy to me, but perhaps it's being here. It's so quiet all the time. I suppose it is relaxing being out of the city. And to be fair, it takes a lot of energy to keep up with your sexual demands. I'd like to at least lie down and try to sleep. I'd like it if you were by me but if you don't feel like sleeping, could you at least tell me a story to help put me to sleep?" He paused then smiled, "I didn't mean it like that. I meant you could use your soft voice and just be nice in that way you sometimes do when I can't sleep." Sherlock's eyes felt very heavy, and the bed looked very soft and warm. He started to undress, but this time slipped into his pajama bottoms. "We could set the alarm so we don't sleep through dinner."

"I know what a nap is, Sherlock, unlike your perverted mind," John laughed. "I don't feel sleepy so I will tell you a story and wake you up for dinner, okay?" John got into pajamas as well because laying in jeans wasn't very comfortable. When they lay down John pulled Sherlock close so that his mouth was close to Sherlock's ear. He spoke softly as he told Sherlock a story his mother used to tell him about a man whose soul was taken from him and the adventure he goes on to get it back. He hoped Sherlock didn't think it was silly with all of its magic and made up places. He kept quiet and John took that as a good sign and before long, Sherlock was snoring softly in his arms. John trailed off and smiled softly, simply lying with him.  

Sherlock dreamt. He was on some kind of adventure but John wasn't there. Everything that happened he wanted to tell John about, but he wasn't there and Sherlock had no phone. Nothing was fun without John. 

When Sherlock woke up, John was in the chair reading. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and smiled. "That was a good nap," he said, "but I had a dream and in it I missed you."

John looked up from his book and smiled. "What were you doing in your dream?"

Sherlock closed his eyes again, trying to remember. "I was trying to find something, I think, I don't know what it was." He eyed John. "It wasn't my soul if that's what you were thinking, clever boy. Don't go assuming you can control my dreams by talking as I fall asleep. I don't want you whispering 'Clean the flat' in my ear each night. Anyway, I didn't find whatever it was, but you weren't there and I wanted you to be."

"Shut up," John laughed. "I wasn't trying to hypnotize you. Get up now. I'm hungry," he said.

"Hmmm," Sherlock said, "I was going to say how glad I am that you're here now, but if you're going to take that attitude . . . " Sherlock stood up and stretched. He changed back into his clothes. He picked up his phone and took a picture of John sitting in the chair. "Fine. I'm ready now, let's go."

"You've been taking a lot of pictures," John said as he got up.

"Indeed I have," Sherlock replied.

John smiled. "I like it," he said. "Very sentimental."

Sherlock blushed. "Perhaps. Photographs help one remember a multitude of things."

"You don't need help remembering things," John smiled wider. "But I do, so I appreciate it," he said.

"Normally, I do not, yet I did not remember that couple, did I?" Sherlock said. He looked over at John. "You look quite smart. You have changed your clothes from this morning."

"I thought I'd wear something nicer for dinner," he shrugged.

"Very handsome. Should I change my clothes? The restaurant didn't seem that fancy. Am I okay?"

"You look great," John smiled. 

Sherlock walked over and kissed him. They headed out. When they arrived, they were seated almost immediately. Sherlock scanned the room. "Hmmm . . . quite a few young people here."

"Are you ashamed you brought me here?" John teased.

"No, I just don't want them to think I'm on a date with my grandfather," Sherlock smiled.

"Hey," John said with mock offense. "Thanks a lot!"

"Shush yourself," Sherlock said, leaning over and touching John's hand lightly. "What are you going to order? Are you getting a drink first? Are you going to get stinking drunk and try to make a move on me?" Sherlock was finding himself rather funny this evening. 

"I'll have some lasagna, and maybe a glass of wine. And I think making a move on you would make me a paedophile," he teased.

"I'll defend you in the papers, don't you worry," Sherlock said. "You choose the wine then." When the server came Sherlock let John do the talking. After he walked away, Sherlock lifted his eyebrow at John and said, "Hmmm, now I know what you look like when you're in love. It's charming, if not a little obvious."

"What are you talking about?" John asked.

"You were giving him [**your special smile**](http://static.tumblr.com/cb4101f9901d1b30e12cddc839784b72/zgwic7g/1AEmocl47/tumblr_static_tumblr_lwpwbhlrsa1qio2jk.gif)," Sherlock said. "I don't think I'm cross. But I don't really like it, I admit."

"I did not! I just ordered normally," John said.

"Then from now on, perhaps I should do the ordering for us. No wonder we always get extra rice at the Chinese," Sherlock was looking down at the tablecloth. "You did, John. I will accept the excuse of you did not mean to, but I was the one who was looking at your face. And you did."

"Sherlock . . . I really didn't mean it," John said. He was nervous that Sherlock was jealous again, and he didn't know how to fix it this time.

"I believe you, John," Sherlock said, now looking over at him. "But didn't you promise that you'd never make me feel this way again? That's the problem with promises, John, they are hard to keep." He took a drink of wine. "It appears I've made an error. You are saying that is just your polite smile? I thought it was a special one. For me. Now I find out you're giving it away to all and sundry."

"I didn't --" John cut off and shook his head. "I don't know what to say. I didn't realise I was doing something different. I'm sorry," he said.

"It's clear it's not you," Sherlock said, reaching over and resting his hand on John's. "I guess I just have to get used to you . . . being attractive to other people. I wish it was just for me."

"Do you want me to wear a bag on my head?" John teased lightly. He didn't think it was funny that Sherlock was jealous and hurt, but it seemed silly to him that enough people found him attractive enough to make Sherlock jealous. He could hardly believe Sherlock liked him.

"I'm glad you suggested it; I was too afraid to," Sherlock laughed.

When the server returned to the table, Sherlock said to John, 'Here's the food, darling," leaning over and touching John's face. As the server reached over the table, Sherlock gave John a silly look.

John squinted his eyes and couldn't help laughing quietly. To his complete horror he noticed the waiter looked disappointed. "This is a great place for a date," John said, reaching across to take Sherlock's hand.

"See?" Sherlock said when the waiter left. "Now do you see why I'm worried? One day you'll do that smile to someone who takes your fancy and that will be that. Imagine if he also knew you were a doctor? All of a sudden, it will be 'Sherlock Who'?"

"That's not going to happen, Sherlock. I love you. I love you so much and I'm not -- don't you understand? If we were not together I might as well be dead. I don't notice people anymore. They're just -- there. I don't know what I can do to convince you," John said.

"You're lovely, you are," Sherlock said softly. "I'm sorry I can be so frustrating. I suppose it's one of my charms, yes?"

"You're not frustrating. It just scares me because you're always sure. And when you're not sure I don't really know what to do. I just love you so much, and I hate that I am the cause of this uncertainty."

"You are not the cause of this uncertainty, you . . . you're just a victim of it. I am so very certain of so many things, John, but this is still new and I worry . . . it will all go wrong and I don't know what I'd do then…"

"Well, I can promise that I'm not going to leave you. So unless you suddenly get bored of me and leave me you don't have to worry about that," John smiled.

"How could I get bored of you? My life has never been so interesting since I've met you," Sherlock said. "I'm a fool for you, I don't see that changing."

"So let's not worry, okay?" John smiled. "Whenever you feel jealous, or I feel jealous, we'll just excuse ourselves and snog furiously to remember that there will never be anyone else," he said.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Hmmm, that is an intriguing idea." He fiddled with his food. "We should finish dinner but I think I might need a little snogging when we get back . . ."

"Okay," John laughed lightly, digging into his meal.

"Unless you want to clubbing with that lot over there," he motioned to some teenagers sitting at a table across the way.

"Very funny," John laughed. "Mind you that girl has been eyeing us so maybe we should go," he said.

"John Watson," Sherlock said. "Are you trying to help or hinder with my jealousy problem because adding more people to the list I need to worry about does not seem hugely beneficial." He gave John a soft kick under the table.

"Hey! You're the one she's looking at!" John laughed.

"I'm not going to look over there," Sherlock said. "This is silly." He leaned over and gave John a quick kiss.

John couldn't help glancing over as Sherlock sat back down. "We're breaking hearts left and right," he smiled.

"Don't break mine," Sherlock said. It sounded slightly more serious than he had wanted it to.

"Never," John said, meeting his gaze with a similar seriousness.

"Good," Sherlock smiled. "Once we leave, let's stop and get a bottle of wine to take back with us."

"Okay," John smiled.

They finished dinner and walked to the off license to get a bottle of wine. As John drove them home, they chatted for a bit about London, how everyone was faring without them. When they got back into the room, they realised they didn't have a corkscrew but John knew a trick to get it open, which impressed Sherlock. Sherlock poured the wine while John made a fire.

John teased Sherlock for not knowing how to get the wine open, laughing when Sherlock swatted his arm. He stayed by the fire, laid out a blanket and sank down in front of it.

Sherlock brought the wine over and handed John a glass. "The fire looks beautiful," he said. Sherlock sat down on the floor next to John. "I like the sounds as well as the colours." He set his glass down and snuggled closer to John. 

"Thanks, I worked really hard on that," he grinned. 

Sherlock leaned over and gave John a slow kiss, lifting his hands into John's hair, gently turning John's head into the kiss. He pulled away slightly to look into John's eyes. "I love you," he said quietly and began covering John's face with his mouth, touching and kissing.

John closed his eyes, wrinkling his nose and smiling. "I love you, too," he murmured. 

Sherlock slipped his arms around John's body, pulling him closer. He moved their bodies so they were lying on the floor. "Is this okay?" he said softly.

John nodded. "You're adorable when you ask me things like that," he smiled. "Everything is perfect."

"Good," Sherlock smiled. He rested on his elbow, leaning over John. He kissed his face still. He let one of his hands trail up and down John's body before resting on one of his hips. He pulled it towards him so they were facing each other. "You're facing the fire," Sherlock said. "Maybe you're too warm -- should you take off your jumper?" He had already begun lifting it over John's head.

John chuckled. "Yes, I suppose I am rather warm," he said, lifting his arms. 

Sherlock kissed John's mouth and moved to his neck, licking and sucking John's skin. Then he unbuttoned his own shirt and slipped it from his shoulders. He moved his arms around John, the skin on their bare chests pressed together.

"That's much better than the fire," John murmured, arching against Sherlock. 

Sherlock reached to the front of John's trousers and removed his belt, before unbuttoning them and pulling them down. John helped removed them and Sherlock started to take off his own. Once they were both stripped, Sherlock tangled his legs in John's and began kissing John's mouth hard, holding the back of John's head with his hands.

John hummed and pushed into the kiss, wrapping his arms around Sherlock's neck tightly. 

Sherlock's hands moved to John's hips and he began to rock them into his own. Their cocks pressed together and he could feel heat growing within him. He gripped John's arse and pushed against him.

John's hands moved up and down Sherlock's back, tracing every muscle.  

Sherlock slipped one hand around John and he slid it up and down the front of John's hip. His skin occasionally brushed past John's cock, but he kept focused on his hip and thigh. He continued to kiss John's face and mouth. The pressure of his hand increased and when it passed John's thigh, he gripped the muscles. 

John was moving his hips with Sherlock's hand, just enjoying being touched by him -- touching him back. He tangled his legs into Sherlock's for more contact. 

Sherlock's mouth moved to John's neck where he sucked and nipped at the skin. Now he let his hand move to John's cock. He held it, his fingers wrapped around its hardness. Sherlock whispered, "I love the feel of you."

John moaned softly. "I love how you feel . . . everything about you," he breathed. 

Sherlock's hand began to move on John's cock, a soft, slow stroke. Their hips were still moving. A small moan escaped Sherlock's lips. He turned their bodies and moved down John, still holding his cock. He lowered his mouth to take it in, softly sucking it, wetting it with his tongue.

"Oh," John moaned, wondering why he never thought of these things first. Sherlock really was too good to him. 

Sherlock continued kissing and sucking as his hand dropped down and stroked John's inner thighs. He slipped his fingers into his mouth quickly to wet them before sliding them between John's legs and he swallowed John's cock down again. 

"Sherlock," he moaned softly. "Your mouth . . .I love your mouth," he smiled. 

Sherlock thought about his mouth and how sometimes it was unable to say the right words, the words he felt or meant when he talked to John. But he had an unlikely confidence about this way of using his mouth. He knew what he was doing was exactly what he meant to do, he knew how to make John feel good this way. His tongue pressed against John as he slid up and down. His fingers were now pressing between John's legs, slipping around John's opening.

John bucked into his hand before pulling back a bit, not wanting to rush through this. "I also love your hands," he continued. 

Sherlock slowly slipped one finger into John as he continued to move his mouth on his cock. He let John's movement guide his.

"I love . . . ah . . . when you . . . oh . . .hold me," he moaned softly. 

When they were like this, Sherlock felt John was more honest than ever. Not just what he said with his words, but Sherlock felt he could listen to John's body, read it, and respond to it. He worked another finger in and moved in and out. He held John's cock in his other hand, moving it up John's shaft as he sat up for a moment to catch his breath and look at John's face. He smiled at how at ease John looked. He hoped his face looked the same because that is how he felt.

"You're so beautiful," John murmured as he stared up at Sherlock. "I wish I could give you everything you deserve," he said quietly.

"You do, John, you do," Sherlock said softly and smiled. He leaned down again, his hands moving again. This time he kissed down the length of John's cock and then kissed around John's hips. He shifted his body to move between John's legs, separating them. He moved his face to where his fingers were moving inside John, and then, letting some saliva pool on his tongue, licked the area, making everything wet and warm.

John gasped softly before moaning, tilting his head back in pleasure.

"I want to fuck you," Sherlock said quietly. "And then I want you to fuck me."

"O-okay," John nodded, swallowing back a small moan.

"Do you understand what I'm saying, John? It means you're going to have to wait to come. No matter what I'm doing, don't come until you're fucking me." Sherlock's voice was quite serious but not mean. He lifted John's hips and positioned himself before pushing into John. "God," he moaned as John's body tightened around him. He leaned forward onto his arms, over John, and began bucking into him.

John nodded to show that he understood, his body jerking lightly with each hard thrust. He loved how full Sherlock made him, so deep inside. He lifted his head and kissed him to distract himself from how impossibly hard he was.

Sherlock's body was moving quite quickly. "I'm . . . not going to last long, I'm thinking of you fucking me," he did his best to say. It felt so good moving into John and it did make him think of John moving into him, which he knew would also feel good.

"Fast like this," John breathed. "You've got me so bloody hard," he moaned.

"Lift your hips," Sherlock begged and as soon as John did, Sherlock came, his cock pulsing into John's body. "John," he called out and his head dropped. He pushed in as far as he could as his orgasm moved through him.

John groaned loudly and gripped the blanket hard, moving his mind away from what Sherlock was doing and putting all of his focus into not coming. "Sherlock -- now," he gasped, moving to sit up. "Please."

Sherlock did not stop to catch his breath, but slipped out of John and moved his body. "Should I lie down?" he asked between gasps.

John nodded, pushing him down quickly and getting between his legs. He spit into his hand and rubbed his fingers hard over his entrance before pushing one in. He swore softly and tried to get a hold of himself, pushing in a second finger and gently fucking Sherlock with his fingers. He spit into his other hand and stroked himself, groaning with need. 

The rush was exciting, almost confusing but exciting. Sherlock lay back and took John's fingers, his body still hot from his orgasm. He lifted his head to look at John, whose face was so intense as he moved his fingers into Sherlock and his hand on his own cock. The sight was almost too much. Sherlock let his head fall back and he just responded to John's fingers, his hips rocking up to meet them. He wanted John to fill him, to move into him.

"Are you ready?" John murmured, stretching his fingers apart. He saw Sherlock nod and he pulled his fingers out, not wasting a second before pushing his cock into Sherlock. As he sank deeper he hooked one hand under Sherlock and pulled him up a bit, thrusting wildly into him. "You feel incredible," he moaned.

"John," Sherlock gasped as he was filled by John. "God, it's good," he said. It was different, a different feeling obviously, but just as good. He tried to match John's rhythm, lifting up, pushing himself against John as John pushed in. His eyes were blurry and, though he tried to keep them open to watch John, they closed. He raised his knees and just sank into the blanket, feeling his body jerk against John's. "Don't stop," he moaned, "Keep . . . as long as you can, it feels so good." 

"Won't be long . . . sorry," he breathed, pounding into Sherlock. He closed his eyes as a slapping noise mixed with their pants and moans and swears. He gripped Sherlock's back and tried to hold on longer, focusing on how tight Sherlock was around him.

Sherlock's legs went around John's back, he did everything he could to curve up into John. He lifted his hands and rested them on John's head as it bobbed from his body's movements. "I love this," he said, breathing heavily.

John huffed out a breath and nodded. Heat pooled too quickly into his lower stomach. "I'm . . .c-coming," he almost whined, sorry that it was so quick. And suddenly he was thrusting up one last time, coming hard into Sherlock, shouting his name. 

Sherlock pulled John to him and they both lay panting and sweaty on the blanket. Sherlock couldn't make any words, but just felt John still in him, John's body heaving against his own heaving. He rested his chin on John's head, closing his eyes -- their two bodies so connected. "God, John," he finally whispered.

John could only nod. He hadn't felt so spent in a long time. He closed his eyes and tried to breathe normally.


	12. A Sleeping Game

They stayed like that for awhile. Sherlock lifted one hand to John's hair, holding him gently. He wrapped his other arm around John's back. Sherlock loved John like he'd never loved anyone else. His eyes got wet, just thinking of how much these times meant -- it wasn't just the pleasure, though God, the pleasure was wonderful, it was what it meant. He'd only ever shared these things with John. He couldn't imagine sharing them with anyone else.

John managed to properly wrap his arms around Sherlock. "I love you so much," he murmured against his skin.

"I . . . really liked that," Sherlock said softly.

"Me too," John smiled and pecked a small kiss on his chest. "It was . . ." he paused and slowly pulled out, looking up at Sherlock. "Hey -- what's wrong?" he asked worried, bringing a hand up to wipe at his cheek.

"Nothing is wrong, John," Sherlock said, meeting his eyes. "It's just these times . . . they mean very much to me. . . because of what we share." He smiled softly. "I promise that's all it is."

"Oh," John smiled wide and kissed his cheek. "They mean a lot to me, too. You mean a lot to me and I'm very happy," he said.

Sherlock held John's head with his hands and kissed him softly. "I am so very happy as well," he said.

John grinned and lay against his chest again, hugging him tightly.

Sherlock shifted slightly. "We were going to have a bath tonight. Do you still want to? Or should we get in the bed soon?"

"We can take a bath," John nodded. "I might fall asleep in the warm water though," he teased.

"I will not let you drown," Sherlock said. "Um . . . I can't really move until you . . . " He looked down towards their hips.

"Shit," John said quietly, slowly pulling away. "All right?"

"Yes," Sherlock said, kind of squeaking. "It's always a bit . . . odd," he smiled. He moved his body to sit up, took a breath, and then stood to get his dressing gown. "I'll go start the bath," he threw John's dressing gown to him. "Don't fall asleep while I'm gone."

"I'll try," he smiled, throwing the dressing gown over his shoulders and watching the flames for a bit. When he heard Sherlock calling, he got up and went to the bathroom.

Sherlock was in the bath but standing up. "I'm not sure about this now, I'm not sure how we'll fit. You'd better get in at the same time, and we'll figure it out." He realised he must look quite daft standing in a tub of water still wearing his dressing gown, but he was worried that if he sat down first, there's be no way John could squeeze in around his long legs.

"You want to be behind me or in front of me?" John asked smiling.

"Ah, yes, that makes more sense. I'll be behind since my legs are longer," Sherlock took off his dressing gown and flung it across the room, rather more dramatically than he had intended to. He sat down, pressed against the back of the bath. "Get in," he said, "but be careful, it's quite hot."

John climbed in, biting his lip at the heat. He sat down slowly, fixing himself between Sherlock's legs and sinking into the water. He hummed softly.

"Now what do we do?" Sherlock said, smiling behind John's head.

"We relax," he said, leaning his head against Sherlock's shoulder. His hands moved lazily along Sherlock's thighs.

Sherlock shifted slightly so he was leaning back a little more. "It is making me a little sleepy. I haven't even had much wine. But it feels nice." He moved his hands a bit in the water and then used one to stroke up and down John's chest softly.

John closed his eyes and smiled softly. "We should have brought the wine, but I don't want to get up now," he murmured.

"Me neither. It'd just make me sleepier and I've promised not to let you drown. I really should stay awake to do that job properly," Sherlock said. "Here's what I was wondering though, John. If you'll excuse my frankness, we've both been fucked already tonight. Does this mean when we get out of the bath and into the bed, we'll be going straight to sleep?" Sherlock was not sure if he would have said this had they been facing each other. But they weren't, he was speaking to the back of John's head which somehow made it easier. 

"If you want to," John said quietly. "Are you tired? Do you want to go right to sleep?"

"Hmmm, could you please list my other options before I make my choice?" Sherlock asked.

"Hmm . . ." John thought for a moment. "We could have sex again. We could drink the rest of the wine. We could order food and stay up late eating."

"I see," Sherlock said. "I think I shall vote for go directly to sleep, please." Sherlock grinned as he always did when he had a clever idea; John would have recognised this grin, but he could not see it.

John chuckled softly. "Okay," he murmured. He wondered if they could just sleep here but knew the water would get cold and they'd be frozen by morning.

"Let's make a move then," Sherlock said. "I am ever so sleepy, John, I imagine I will be asleep as soon as I hit the pillow, as they say." He shifted but realised he really couldn't stand up until John did. 

"Already?" John murmured, moving slowly to stand up.

"Yes, I'm so sleepy, John," Sherlock said. He yawned to make his point. He stood up and dried off. He saw his reflection in the mirror and did his best not to look cheeky. He brushed his teeth and yawned again. "I'm getting into bed now, John. Please come with me."

"All right, hold on," John said, drying off quickly and brushing his teeth as well. "Come on, then," he said as he climbed into bed.

Sherlock immediately turned out the light and leaned over to quickly kiss John's cheek. "Good night, John," he said and flipped over so he was facing the other way. He sighed a few times. Within a few minutes, he was making snoring sounds. He kept this up until he heard John nestle into his pillow. Then quietly he said, "John, I am having a dream but it seems very real. Even though I know I am asleep, I also know I am talking and perhaps I will get up and walk as well. They say you are never supposed to wake a sleepwalker, so whatever you do, you mustn't speak or it might wake me. You must stay silent while I tell you what I am seeing in my dream." He paused for a moment to see if John was going to play along.

John covered his mouth to keep from chuckling out loud. When he finally got a hold of himself he said, "How very mysterious," with mock wonder. "Well, I suppose if that's what they say that's what I should do."

"You're a doctor, you should know that. But stop talking to me. I'm asleep, remember. It could be dangerous to wake me." He paused. He wished he could see John, but instead he stayed turned away from him. "Here is what is happening in my dream. We are on a boat, a cruise ship. There are many people with us, I don't know who they are. I don't even know you. But I see you. I see you from across the dining room. You are talking to the people at your table, you are being friendly and funny and the people at the table are laughing. I feel like I want to meet you. But I don't know how to because I am shy. But I am also devious. So I ask someone your name and get it paged, asking you to return to your room. You enter your cabin and it is dark. You try to turn on the lights but they don't go on. I am in the corner, you cannot see me. You cannot see anything because it is pitch black. But I can see you because I have memorised your face, memorised your body. I speak and it startles you but I tell you to lie on your bed, and there must be something about my voice because you say nothing and lie down. You lie down on the bed just like you're lying on this bed with me right now, which I can't see, of course, because I'm sleeping, but I imagine you look the same. Close your eyes now, John, let me see if I can make you have the same dream I am having."

John closed his eyes and imagined all of it in his head, but kept to the rules and didn't say another word. He played the little story out like a movie.

"I am still standing in the corner of your cabin. You are lying on your bed. You haven't moved or spoken. I say, 'John Watson, my name is Sherlock Holmes,' but you do not say anything. I ask you, 'Are you afraid?' and you say, 'A little' and for some reason, I am incredibly pleased with this answer. For some reason I want you to feel a little afraid. I don't tell you not to be. Instead, I say, 'I think you should probably remove your clothing,' and you do, John, you pull your jumper over your head, lift your hips to remove your trousers, you take off all your clothes in a dark room with a strange man in the corner, telling you what to do." Sherlock was almost whispering now. "To be honest, I can't believe you did it, but in the dream, I am very, very pleased that you did. I say to you, 'So John Watson, are you gay then?' and you, of course, say that you are not, because that's what you used to always say, remember? Even though that used to bother me in life, it doesn't seem to bother me at all in the dream. Instead, I say to you, 'So does that mean you would rather I suck you or fuck you?' You are quiet in the dream for a minute. I say, 'Are you still afraid?' and you say 'A little' again. I say 'One of these things is going to happen. Which do you choose?'"

Sherlock swallowed. "If you are having the same dream as me, it means you too are asleep, so I think it would be okay if you spoke as long as you did it quietly. We're in the dream now, John. Which one will you choose?"

John put himself in the mind of dream John, scared but loving the mystery and excitement of what was happening. Something about that soft, baritone voice making everything okay. He was only a little bit scared, leaving him mostly feeling safe. This stranger wouldn't hurt him. Of course, dream John wasn't gay and he remembered the first time with Sherlock. Dream John would be nervous and cautious. "I choose that you suck me," John whispered very quietly.

"In the dream, I tell you to sit up and you do. You still cannot see me, but I can see your face inside my head, I know exactly what the look on your face is. You are wide-eyed, but you have also licked your lips: you are anxious but more than that, you are curious. You want to know what's going to happen. I move you to the edge of the bed then push you back down so you're lying flat. 'Put your hands behind your head and do not move them,' I say to you and you do as I say. I bend down and separate your knees. I move between your legs, I lean into you and breathe on you. My warm breath is all over your thighs, your balls, and then your cock. My mouth is hovering above you. You don't know me, John, I'm a stranger to you in a dark room. I am dressed, you are not. I am telling you what to do." Sherlock let that sit with John for a minute.

"John, you're in the dream. Are you getting hard despite all these details? As I breathe on you, are you going to get hard?"

Again John played the words like a movie. Of course he was hard already. Sherlock's deep voice whispering in the dark, saying these sorts of things, being commanding . . .he bit his lip to keep from moaning. "I'm whimpering very softly as you breathe all over me. Despite my curiosity I am still a little bit scared -- you're a stranger after all. But my body doesn't seem to mind that. It's excited . . . growing for you, arching up for you. I can't help but get hard for you because I know that's what you want and secretly I want it, too."

"I can feel the tension in your body and I love it, it's turning me on. But I am still hovering over you, I've not touched you yet. I open my mouth and let my tongue move the air between my mouth and your cock. You can feel the movement, but I've not touched you yet. I even let a little bit of the wetness drip on to you. I say to you, 'Beg me.' Do you do it, John, do you beg this stranger whose face you've never seen to suck your cock?"

John moaned softly. He could almost feel the wet heat as if it was happening in real life -- the drip of saliva on his cock, rolling down the shaft. He wanted more. Dream John definitely wanted more, his fears completely swallowed by lust. "Please," he whispered simply.

"In the dream, I feel so pleased to hear you say please. But remember, I am devious. I stand up and tell you to stand up and you do. I know your face now as well. It is confused, slightly more wide-eyed. You don't know what's going to happen, John, and there's a part of you that loves that but knows that you shouldn't. I move and pull your arms behind you. I shift you across the cabin to the dresser. There's a mirror above it. I move your hands to either side of the mirror and bend your body. 'I've decided to fuck you instead,' I say in the dream and you hear me unzip my trousers. The moon is coming in the window but you can't see my face yet. You know I am taller than you, that's all you can see." Sherlock's voice was a rasp now. The dream was making him hard in life and he wanted to reach down and touch himself. But he didn't. "Do you think I should finger you first? Or should I make you beg me to fuck you? In the dream, I'm not sure which to do. Tell me, John."

John huffed out a breath. He needed to remain dream John because real John would have no problem being fucked against the wall. Dream John was now terrified, mostly by his own willingness because still he did not say no. He did not say stop. "Fingers, please . . .I've never done this before," he breathed so very quietly.

"You can hear me spit into my hand, you don't know what's going to happen, do you, John? As you say, you've never done this. I slide my hand down your arse and press one slick finger against you. I press it into you, John. You've never felt that before, you tighten around my finger, of course you do. In the dream, I'm thinking about how it will feel when you tighten around my cock. I start moving my finger, John, but it's hard to be gentle in a situation like this. 'Keep your eyes open,' I say to you. I tell you to watch the mirror, to try to see my face, because I know you won't be able to. You're not going to be able to see my face, John. I've got two fingers in you now. I'm moving them in and out, I'm stretching you, John. You're trying to think straight, but you're struggling. I push you down a little, I'm lining you up because I'm going to fuck you now. I'm tired of waiting. I pull out my fingers, spit into my hand and slick myself. I push the tip against you, but then with my other hand, I pull your hips back so you're pushing yourself against me. You're doing it, John, not me. You're fucking my cock. You're looking in the mirror at the man whose cock you're fucking but you cannot see my face. How does that make you feel, John?"

John had fully lost himself to dream John now and his body reacted as if they were one. He whimpered when Sherlock talked about his fingers going in and he knew it wasn't gentle. It's not hard, but it's urgent and almost selfish. He found he didn't care. He grunted lightly as he's stretched open, and a small part of his brain wondered how Sherlock could say these things so calmly because he couldn't even listen to them calmly. His hips were moving very slightly as he pictured everything happening, especially when Sherlock described dream John pushing himself onto Sherlock's cock. "I'm scared because it feels good. I'm scared that I like it so much and I want impossibly more . . ."

"In the dream, I just want to come, John, I'm pounding into you now, I can feel our bodies shifting the dresser against the wall. It's banging against the cabin wall, but I don't care, because I'm fucking you hard, and I'm going to come into you hard. You don't know yet to recognise the signs but I'm coming John, I'm coming in you. A man's just fucked you, John. I stay inside you and reach my wet hand around and start stroking you. 'Look at yourself in the mirror,' I say and you do, you watch yourself getting wanked by a stranger whose cock is still inside you. You're going to come now, John, you're coming. Are you quiet? Are you making noises or words? Tell me," Sherlock's voice was now the voice he was imagining in the dream.

"I'm loud," John said with certainty. "I'm loud because this has never happened to me before and it hurts a little and it fills me and stretches me and my front is pressed into a hard dresser and my face is contorted in pleasure. My body is shaking too much and I come hard -- I lose my reflection because I can't see from the force of it, I don't know what I'm saying any more or how loud I'm actually being. When I'm done my knees give out and I clutch the wood, desperately to stay standing." 

"You're panting, you're trying to catch your breath, but you open your eyes and look again in the mirror. You want to see your own face as much as you want to see mine, you want to see if you're different now. But you can't see your face, John, and you can't see mine. I zip up. I tell you to get back on the bed and you do. I tell you to put your hands over your eyes and you do. And then I open the door and slip out. You never see me, John, you never find out what I look like. But I know what you look like. I know your face, I know your body, I know what you sound like when you come. For the rest of the cruise, I watch you. I watch you looking at every tall man on that boat. I watch you ask crew members to identify Sherlock Holmes to you, but they can't because I've used a different name. I am that devious, John. You never see me. And then . . . the dream is over and we wake up."

"I have to wank," John said quietly. "There's no sleeping like this." He was a bit embarrassed to admit it, but damn Sherlock and his story. He writhed lightly as if that was going to make anything better. The friction of his cock moving against the covers only made it worse.

Sherlock turned over quickly. "Don't, John," he said. "Let me fuck you. Get up," Sherlock slid out of the bed, already stroking his cock, and turned the chair around. He pulled John towards it and then pushed him against the back of it. "Touch yourself," he said. He reached to grab the lube and covered himself.

"Look up," he said and John was looking straight into the mirror on the wall. Sherlock watched John in the mirror as he pushed his cock into him. He began rocking his body, trying to keep his eyes open, trying to see John in the moonlight which was brighter than in the dream. "Make yourself come," he said in the dream voice. 

"Fuck," John groaned, unable to help himself. He gripped his cock and stroked himself furiously, coming within seconds all over his hand and the mirror. His knees gave out, and he clutched at the wall pointlessly to stay up. He felt Sherlock hook his arm around his waist, and he tried to get a hold of himself so Sherlock wouldn't have to hold his weight like this.

Sherlock held John's waist, pushing John's body back against him, letting John fuck him like in the dream. It was too much and he came into John, bucking up hard and then realising that he too could barely stand. He braced himself until he caught his breath and then pulled away, pulling John with him back to the bed.

It seemed to take a long time but finally John flopped down heavily onto the bed, panting as if he'd run a marathon. Sherlock was going to be the death of him but what a wonderful way to go. It was a long time before he could speak and when he did the only thing he could manage was a weak "Christ, Sherlock . . . " 

Sherlock smiled to himself. John's swearing was usually a good sign. "Yes, John? Were you going to say something?" he asked.

"I'm bloody exhausted," he sighed. "And you lied to me," he teased. "Sleep my arse -- I'll be sleeping all day tomorrow."

"I was sleeping, John, I've been sleeping this whole time. Though I did have a very strange dream . . ." Sherlock said, laughing softly. "We can sleep as long as you want tomorrow," he said, sliding his arms around John. "Let's go to sleep now. If you dream, remember it and tell me in the morning, okay?" He nuzzled into John's hair and then found himself yawning.

John swatted his chest and then curled against him, pulling the covers up for extra warmth. "I'll try," he murmured, catching Sherlock's yawn.

Sherlock closed his eyes. He knew he was in bed with John. They were on holiday in the Cotswolds. He knew what was real. This was real. He fell to sleep thinking about what was real.

John was asleep almost instantly. He snored softly as his mind played films of Sherlock and him and a small voice was reminding him to tell Sherlock in the morning.


	13. A Different Sleeping Game

Sherlock didn't dream. Perhaps it was because he already manufactured a dream for the night, but he seemed to have slept more soundly than he had in a very long time. When he woke, John was still sleeping next to him. He fiddled with John's hair and then traced his finger softly down John's forehead and nose to his lips. He ran his fingertip over John's lips and was thinking about kissing them when John opened his eyes. 

John felt the light touches as he slowly woke up, finally blinking his eyes open to Sherlock touching his lips lightly. He kissed Sherlock's finger and smiled. "Morning," he murmured.

"Good morning, John," Sherlock said. "Did you sleep well?" He smiled. He liked when John's face was the first thing he saw in the morning.

"Very well," John smiled. He felt very well rested like last night hadn't even happened. But it had and that made him smile even wider.

"I did as well," Sherlock stretched in the bed. "Yet there's a part of me that doesn't want to get out of the bed. I like being in this bed with you. I like that you don't have to get up and go to work."

"So let's lie here and be lazy," John grinned.

"You mean compared to how productive we've been since we got here?" Sherlock said, laughing softly. "I'd never really seen the attraction of holidays, but I have definitely enjoyed not really doing much these past few days. I can't believe how much I've slept. Probably more in these past few days than in the whole past month."

"Well, having wild sex five times a day will do that to you," John laughed.

"Hmmm. . . keep that in mind the next time you nag me that I don't sleep enough. If you had known that's all it takes, I don't know why you didn't suggest it months ago." Sherlock was playing with John's hair again.

John chuckled softly. "This leaves me completely spent," he smiled.

"Me too," Sherlock admitted. His body was a bit sore, especially his legs. "It's good, though, isn't it? To be so tired from. . . what we've done." He stretched again. "I don't think taking the bath was a brilliant idea though. I think it hurt my back."

"Yeah," John smiled. "This is the best thing to be tired from. And if you want I'll be behind you next time. The hot water eased my muscles."

"Will you rub my back a little, please?" Sherlock turned away from John, pulling the covers up all the way to his chin. "Be gentle, though, please."

"Of course," John said, scooting over to him. He gently started to knead Sherlock's back.

"Oi, careful," Sherlock squeaked. "It's more tender than I realised." He wriggled a little and got used to John's rubbing. "I hope this doesn't mean I'm getting too old to have you on the floor or against the wall." He smiled to himself, remembering.

"If I'm not too old, you're definitely not," John laughed, easing up a bit as he slowly rubbed the muscles.

"Yes, but you're fitter than I am," Sherlock said. "You're just all round healthier than me. My poor habits perhaps are going to catch up with me. I hope I don't drop dead during a passionate moment. That'd be awkward to explain to people."

"That's not going to happen," John said quietly. "And now you're doing much better."

"It would be a strange poetic irony if it was love that killed me," Sherlock said wistfully.

John chuckled softly. "Yes, it would," he agreed.

"Don't kill me, John," Sherlock said, in mock seriousness, despite his grin. "Don't fuck me to death, please, I beg you."

"I'll try my best, but honestly I think you'll kill me first," he teased.

"I would never do such a thing!" Sherlock said as if he were being questioned by police. "That's an outrageous suggestion and I demand you take it back right now!" He wriggled away from John for a moment, but then quickly moved back a little closer.

"I will not," John laughed. "It's the truth."

"Fine," Sherlock said. "Now I know how you truly feel about me. That you think my every seduction is in fact a potential murder plot. That's hurtful." Sherlock felt like kissing John, but he was also enjoying the back rub so he decided to wait.

"It very well could be. My heart almost gave out last night," he smiled.

"Did you like that last night?" Sherlock said. "Why?"

"I did. It was different, and very sexy. If course I like touching you more, but not touching you though that was . . .hot."

"I'm glad you liked it," Sherlock said. "I don't really know where that came from, but I'm glad you liked it. I liked it, too." Sherlock was remembering the words he had said, the things he'd described and what happened then. "I like it very much actually. I like when we . . . do different things. I like the things we do."

"If you have any more of those little scenes, we should act them out," John smiled. "That would be different."

"Is there anything else different you'd like us to do?" Sherlock said quietly.

"We've done mine," John said. "The tying up, remember? What about you?"

"I don't know," Sherlock said shyly. "I don't have the same amount of experience as you . . . ' He tried to think. "Well, once I had a dream -- a real dream -- that I thought was quite sexy. Actually, I've had the dream more than once. I think it's because I never want you to go to work in the mornings. I suppose it's all very selfish . . . but in the dream, you get up for work but change your mind and you get back in bed and then you. . . do things to me, even though I'm still asleep. Of course, I then wake up and we . . . do more things. I've had that dream quite often actually." Sherlock thought about it now and it was a very nice thought.

"You want me to like suck you off while you sleep?" John asked, remembering Sherlock asking him that during their coin game.

"Well, sometimes it's been that. Other times, I don't know, sometimes it's kissing, sometimes it's touching. I'll pay more attention next time. The important part is that I wake up and it's already started," Sherlock felt kind of embarrassed but he wasn't sure why.

"I can do that for you," John murmured. "Sounds fun," he smiled.

"But . . . " Sherlock was trying to think of the right words, "It needs to be because you want to, because you don't want to leave me. That's the best part, not just what you're doing. I suppose that's why it's selfish, and probably why I like it so much."

"But I don't want to leave you," John said. "So you already have that," he smiled.

Sherlock smiled to himself. He knew it was probably his inexperience but he still loved hearing John say things like that. It still felt new and it made himself almost . . . giddy. He thought about the dream, thought about the fact that maybe one day it would happen and this made him feel good. He reached around and grabbed one of John's hands and slid it round his hips and placed it over his cock. "Keep rubbing," he said, "both places. Back and front, please."

John gripped him lightly and stroked back and forth, matching the rhythm of his hand on his back. "Imagine it," John whispered. "My mouth moving on your cock, but you're sleeping. Your cock is going and you have no idea."

Sherlock closed his eyes and listened to John's voice. He did what John said. He tried to turn off his mind, to not think, to put his mind to sleep and to just let his body respond. He made a small moan and let his hips move with John's stroke.

"No," John said and stopped his hand. "You're sleeping and not moving." When Sherlock stopped John continued. "It's terribly naughty, taking what I want from you and you don't even know it."

Sherlock tried again. He was just asleep not that long ago, how could he forget what it felt like? He took a deep breath and tried his best to let the inhale go through his body before slowly letting it out. He kept his eyes closed, but let them soften. He tried to think of nothing, but it seemed impossible. So instead he tried to imagine what was happening as if he were watching it. They were in bed in the flat, Sherlock was sleeping, it was early morning and John had got up for work but then had come back and saw Sherlock sleeping. He saw it in his mind as if he were standing at the door watching. He watched the sleeping Sherlock being touched by John.

"I'm just about to get dressed when I see you," John said, starting the story over to make it more real for him. "Naked, of course, and the sheet is falling off of you, just covering your cock. I start to get hard and I decide I'd much rather see you than any patient." John gripped him a bit tighter as he continued his slow movement. The hand on Sherlock's back had stopped now. "I murmur your name but you don't wake up . . . so tired from how hard we fucked the night before. But it wasn't enough. I want more. So I'm going to take it. I pull the blanket off completely and you shiver so lightly, making me smile. I'll warm you up very soon. I rub my hands over your chest and belly, then down your thighs before coming back to you half hard cock. Naughty boy . . .what are you dreaming about?" John asked softly.

"I . . . don't know," Sherlock couldn't think, he didn't want to think. He watched it in his head, watched John moving to the sleeping Sherlock. It was like watching a secret -- like watching John's secret almost, since he could do whatever he wants. Whatever it was John wanted to do, Sherlock knew it would be good and safe. He felt John's hand on his cock in reality but he imagined it was happening in the flat. Sherlock did feel a little chill, like he would if they were home in the early morning.

"Hmm," John hummed, now twisting his hand as it moved up and down. "I touch you with my hand first, softer than I am now because I don't want you to wake up yet. When I touch you your cock grows harder, like it knows what's happening even if you don't. I lean down and kiss the tip, twice, three times before I suck you into my mouth, slowly moving up and down."

"John," Sherlock whispered. He thought about the sleeping Sherlock, about John's mouth. He could feel it on his cock. He knew John's hand was there, but he could feel the warm wetness of John's mouth, too. He knew that feeling so well, he loved it. In his mind, he watched John on their bed, moving so carefully to not wake him. He knew that John wanted him, was that what made this so exciting? As he listened to John's voice, Sherlock pressed his head slightly into the pillow. He let his mouth open slightly, breathing into the feeling of John's movement on his cock. 

John started to run his thumb along the tip. "I'm doing all my little tricks, licking the tip, swirling along the bottom, and massaging your balls." John stopped stroking to massage his balls for a second before gripping his cock again and continuing. "I hear you hum softly, and I wonder if you're starting to wake up. I don't stop. I don't care. I'm enjoying myself."

Sherlock recognised every move John described. He wanted more, but tried to stay in the story, tried to still be the sleeping Sherlock. He could feel his cock getting wet in John's hand. It was becoming more and more difficult for Sherlock not to move, not to buck into John's hand or turn over and kiss his mouth, but he didn't.

"You shift, but you don't wake up. Now I'm starting to wonder what exactly I can get away with before you do wake up," John murmured. "I start to suck you harder, hollowing my cheeks around you. Then I slide my fingers down to your arse and you're still a bit open from riding me the night before. How lucky for me," he breathed against Sherlock's ear. "I slip my finger inside of you and start to move that slowly while I suck you off."

"God, John, yes," Sherlock felt John's finger, for a minute, he forgot it was just in his imagination. His back arched ever so slightly, it was like he couldn't stop from doing so. He wanted John to fuck him in real life, but at the same time, he wanted to try to stay with John's story. 

"You tighten around my hand even though you're sleeping and it makes me hum around you. Reacting to me and you don't even know it. I push in a second finger just because I can, pumping them in and out. I wonder if you would wake up if I touched your prostate," John wondered aloud. 

Sherlock's body was almost hurting, it ached so much. He focused on his breath again, trying to last, but he was sure he couldn't take much more.

"I decide to go for it," John whispered, stroking him faster. "I push my fingers into you, and I leave them deep, curling them to stroke your prostate continuously."

"John, I . . . can't, John, please," Sherlock swallowed. "Please fuck me for real." His voice was almost a whimper.

John, whose free hand was holding his own cock down, let it go so that it came up to hit Sherlock's arse. John moved his wet fingers to Sherlock's hole and pushed one in. "Have you woken up then?" he murmured as he pumped for real now. 

"Yes," Sherlock struggled to get the words out. "I'm awake, I see what you're doing to me and I want it, I want you to keep doing it . . . Please." He let his hips rock now, moving against John's finger. It felt good, better even than in his imagination. "More," he whispered, arching his body.

His fingers were very wet and Sherlock really was still a bit open, so he pushed in two more fingers, moving right to three. 

Sherlock was rocking hard against John now, moving against his fingers. He slid his hand down to his cock and started stroking. He moaned John's name over and over. 

"I'll do that," he breathed, continuing to stroke Sherlock as he pulled his other hand free. He pushed his cock into Sherlock and matched his hips to the rhythm of his hands. 

Sherlock gasped as John filled him. He did not feel in control of his body and he didn't even try anymore. He just kept moving against John, pushing John in further. John's hand continued to move on his cock and Sherlock worried he was going to explode. He didn't know what to do with his hands so he lowered one and held on to John's wrist as it moved up and down his cock. "God," he moaned, "John . . . don't stop. Harder . . . I'm c-close. Come into me, please."

John thrust into him as hard as he could from this position, stroking him quickly. "Come, Sherlock. Come into my hand."

Sherlock swallowed hard and concentrated on every movement John was making, every feeling in his body that was all down to John. He was breathing hard and he could feel the heat build within him and all of a sudden his breathing stopped and his body stopped and he came against John's hand. He stayed frozen for a moment as his cock pulsed and then he was able to breathe again and his chest heaved. He slid his hand over John's, holding it against him.

John pushed into him a few more times before coming himself, groaning against Sherlock's back.  

Sherlock did his best to catch his breath. He felt John breathing against his back. Their bodies were sticky with sweat and come. "I love what you do to me," he whispered.

John nodded against Sherlock's back. "I do, too."

Sherlock slowly moved away, feeling John's cock slide out of him. He turned his body and wrapped his arms around John. He kissed his mouth and then slide his head into the crook of John's neck. He curled his body, tangling his legs with John's, wanting to be closer.

John wrapped his arms around Sherlock and held him very tightly. 

"I'm exhausted again," he said. "We haven't even got out of bed yet and I am ready for a nap. You have turned me into a lazy fool, John Watson." He smiled at John's face.

John laughed softly. "I love you even if you are a lazy fool," he said. "You've got me considering quitting my job," he mused. 

"John, you mustn't. Yes, I do want you around all the time, but I don't think we can keep this up forever. One of us will end up dead then," Sherlock laughed. "Keep going to work and making me miss you. I hate it but just promise that we'll take more holidays like this."

"Okay," John laughed. "If you insist."

Sherlock twisted his body again, turning round so John was spooning him. "I'm going to close my eyes for just a few minutes. I'm just going to rest my eyes, It won't be long, I just need a rest." His voice sounded sleepy. He pulled John's arms around him.

"Okay," John murmured, curled against him and closing his eyes as well. 

They both slept for a few hours. Sherlock woke first. He thought for a moment he had dreamt what had happened earlier, but then he remembered that it had really happened. He smiled. He and John had done many things this holiday. He wondered if they would do these things at home as well. He hoped so. He loved all of it, he loved trying new things. He curled around John, but moved gently so not to wake him. He just watched John sleep.

John snored softly, curling around Sherlock when he turned and got comfortable again. He always slept so much better when he was with Sherlock, close to him.

The photograph the woman had given Sherlock popped into his mind. Then the question John had asked him popped into his mind. He wondered why the first thought had made him think of the second.

He did remember that holiday. Their family had seemed happy. It was one of the few happy memories he had of his family or his childhood. And it happened on holiday in the Cotswolds. And then everything changed and it seemed like love was replaced with anger and hate.

Now John had asked him to get married. He asked on holiday in the Cotswolds when everything was about love and sex. Would things change for them when they got home? Would things change if they were married? 

Sherlock knew he loved John. He knew he loved John like he had never loved anyone else, because he hadn't loved many people. He did not think he would stop loving John.

But John's feelings . . . everything was more complicated. Sherlock absolutely believed that John loved him. But John had loved many people, and being in love with Sherlock had been difficult for John. What if John got tired of Sherlock being a man? Yes, that was part of what was worrying him. John had more of a traditional background than Sherlock; what if he wanted something more traditional, a family? What if what John really wanted was a wife? 

John had said at dinner, "If we were not together I might as well be dead." Sherlock couldn't understand that: John had so much to offer, would his life really have no meaning without Sherlock? Sherlock also worried that John would get tired of Sherlock's peculiarities, of his needs. Most people did.

Sherlock had had all of these worries before. When he first fell in love with John, he had thought about these things. When they first got together, he had thought about these things. Now he thought about them again.

Sherlock looked again at John sleeping. He loved John so much. He really did. He was in love with him. That he knew beyond a doubt.

It was about an hour later when John properly woke up, stretching and blinking his eyes open slowly. "What is it?" He asked when he saw Sherlock staring.

"You're pretty when you sleep," Sherlock said, "I love you" and he gave John a kiss on the forehead.

John closed his eyes for the kiss and then opened them again. "You're pretty all the time," he smiled.

"Thank you," Sherlock said. "I would ask you if you've been dreaming, but I don't know if I can handle any more of our stories," he smiled.

John laughed softly. "I didn't dream. Or I don't remember it, anyways," he said.

"What do you want to do now?" He leaned over and looked at the clock. "John, it's almost dinner time. We have literally slept away the whole day."

"Well, we are on holiday," John laughed. "Let's go out for dinner."

"Yes, but we must shower. I have a feeling while we might find each other quite adorable, I think the rest of the world will find us quite . . . smelly." Sherlock stood up and stretched. "I'm going into the shower."

"I assumed that," John smiled. "Did you say it again to insist you really must shower and I should wait here?"

"I was hoping you would chase me in and then drag me back to bed. I was just announcing it to give you time to prepare," Sherlock said.

"But then we'll miss dinner and you'll yell at me again for not taking care of you," John grinned. "And I really am hungry," he added. 

"Fine," Sherlock said, pretending to pout. "You can chase me after dinner." He headed into the bathroom.

John nodded his agreement and laughed as the door shut. He got up and stretched, finding some clean clothes to wear after his shower.

Sherlock was quick, he too realised he was quite hungry. He got out and wrapped himself in a towel and went back to get dressed. Before John went into the bathroom, though, Sherlock made him stop so he could take his picture. "You look cute," Sherlock explained. "Fine. Now go get clean." After getting dressed, he sat at the window and waited for John.

John was thankful that he had his pants on for the picture. He disappeared into the shower and worked very quickly as his stomach growled. When he got out he dried off quickly, wrapped his towel around his waist and came out to get dressed. "What are you craving?" John asked. 

"Is that a pick up line?" Sherlock laughed. "You know me, I will refuse to eat anything. But let's pick a place with fewer young people and less good looking waiters. And liquor. I think I might have too much to drink tonight. It's been a while since I've done that." 

John laughed. "No, it was not a pick up line." He finished getting dressed and grabbed his jacket. "Let's go find such a place. I'll get drunk with you and then we can come home and play," he grinned. 

"Okay, but do not get sick. Let's take a taxi then. We can ask the driver for the name of a nice pub that serves food. Okay?" 

"Okay. And I won't get sick. You don't get sick."

"I shan't. That would be unseemly," Sherlock smiled, closing his phone. "Ten minutes. Let's kiss until he arrives." He walked over to John and put his arms around his waist. He leaned down and kissed John's mouth softly. He kept all the kissing quite soft and then they heard the taxi pull up.


	14. A Drinking Game

They got in and the driver took them to a small pub, which almost looked like it had been abandoned, but which the driver assured them had the best food and the least amount of young people.

John paid the driver and got out first, studying the place until Sherlock joined him a second later. "I'll have wine, I think," he decided as they went inside. 

"Fine. I think I'll do the ordering this evening. Go get us a table." Sherlock went up the bar and returned with a glass of wine, a short glass of whiskey and two menus. He handed John the wine and said, "I didn't know which one to get so I got you a glass of the one with the prettiest name."

John smiled. "I'm sure it's fine," he said taking a sip. He winced at how strong it was and smiled wider before taking up his menu. 

"The landlord seems nice," Sherlock said. "Don't worry -- I don't think I'll bed him. He's married, overweight and in his mid sixties. However, he was appropriately friendly. By which I mean, he gave me the drinks and took my money without engaging in any unnecessary small talk."

"I'll have to keep my eyes on him then. Can't have you snatched away from me," John teased. 

Sherlock and John ordered their meals. While they were waiting, Sherlock suggested they play a drinking game. "I will ask you a question about me and you answer. If you're right, I get one point and if you're wrong, you get one point. The first one to five points has to do a shot of the most disgusting drink they have behind the bar. No cheating either. If I'm right, don't say I'm wrong. And vice versa, obviously. Do you want to play?"

"Yeah, okay," John nodded. "That sounds fun." 

"Question One: Have I ever broken a bone?" Sherlock asked.

John squinted his eyes and thought for a moment. "Yes."

"Correct. I have broken three ribs. That's one point for me. Do you want me to keep a tally on a piece of paper or will you trust me to remember the scores properly?"

"I trust you," John smiled. "Let's see . . . what was my worst subject in school?"

"Sex ed?" Sherlock joked. Then he looked carefully at John and said, "History."

John nodded. "Can't remember dates to save my life," he smiled. 

"One for you," Sherlock said. He went silent for a moment. "How many children did my mother give birth to?" 

"I . . . two, right?" John asked uncertain. Did Sherlock have more siblings?

"Correct," Sherlock said plainly. "Two points for me."

"That was a silly one," John laughed. "Hmm . . . have I ever had any pets?"

"I bet you had at least one dog growing up," Sherlock said, even though he couldn't remember John ever mentioning one. "Or a gerbil. Yes. Yes is my answer."

John shook his head. "Sorry," he smiled. "No pets. Harry is allergic."

"Hmm . . . I thought I'd be better at this game. How much money do I have in my account right now?"

"What? How am I . . ." John sighed and thought for a second. "20,000?"

"No. Eleven pounds," Sherlock said.

"Shut up! That can't be true!" John laughed. He felt the wine getting to him a bit.

"John, are you actually accusing me of lying? That is a very serious claim," Sherlock said. "Are you taking a turn or what?" 

"Okay, calm down," John laughed. "Um . . . how many years did I play rugby?"

"Oh Christ, John, I don't know. Four? I hate this game." Sherlock said. He didn't even care that he was such a sore loser.

"Seven," John smiled. "This was your idea, remember," he laughed. 

Sherlock made a face at John. Why did he even care about losing? But he did. He thought for a moment. "If you get this one right, I have to take a shot of the most disgusting drink behind the bar. What colour will the drink I buy be?"

John looked over at the bar. "Um . . .dark brown," he said, smiling back at Sherlock. 

"Wrong!" Sherlock said too loudly. "It will be that disgusting blue that's to the right of the till." He put his hand down on the table and smiled smugly.

"Okay," John laughed. "What's your question, then?"

"Are you already drunk? It's your turn."

"Oh, yeah," John smiled. "Um . . .what's my favourite book?"

"John, I've just realised: you are an absolutely stranger to me. I literally don't know you at all," Sherlock tipped the rest of his drink into his mouth. He pulled out his wallet and set it on the table. " _White Fang_. By Jack London."

John shook his head. " _War Horse_ ," he smiled. He downed the rest of his wine. "Does that make me the winner?"

"Don't gloat," Sherlock stood up and went to the bar. He came back with a tray of seven plastic shot glasses filled with blue liquid, along with another glass of whiskey, a glass of wine, a pitcher of water and two plastic cups. He tipped one of the blue shot glasses into his mouth and grimaced. He poured himself a glass of water, took a sip and swished it around his mouth. Then he took a drink of whiskey. "Where is our food? I may end up sick at this rate. How many times have I come since we've been in the Cotswolds?"

"God, Sherlock, I don't know! I haven't kept track," he said. 

"Good, you lose. You take a shot." He pushed a shot glass over to John. "I'm teasing. You still haven't got to five yet. But drink it anyway so we're even. And then we should stop until we get some food in us."

"Why should I drink it?" John asked. "You're breaking your own rules!"

"To be equal," he said. "Fine, forget it. I had no idea you were so keen to win. You know, John, competitiveness is a very unattractive characteristic. And you also seem quite aggressive. Is this what alcohol does to you, John? Turn you into a macho bully with violent tendencies?" Sherlock laughed at himself. The liquor was definitely having an effect on him.

"No! I'm just playing fair. Alcohol is making you into a cheater!" John laughed. In a fit of insanity John took two shots of the blue stuff, huffing out at the taste. 

"Great, John, now I've got to take another one so we're equal. That's all I want. I just want us to be equal. When did fairness become a crime, John?" He was talking a bit stupid now, which made him laugh at himself again. He took another shot.

John laughed. "No more until we get dinner," he said. He could hold his alcohol well but he was a worried about Sherlock.  

"Those are absolutely disgusting," Sherlock said. "My face feels warm. Yours is a bit pink." He leaned over and touched John's cheek. "I think I am already a bit drunk because I feel like I'd very much like to kiss you right now."

"Nope," John shook his head. "We are going to eat first, okay?"

"I know, John," Sherlock said. "You don't have to baby me, I am just saying that's how I feel. I just wanted to tell you how I feel." Finally the food arrived and they began eating. Sherlock said, "There are three shots left. Are we just going to drink them or are we still going to play the game?"

"Let's just drink them," John said. "And I'm not babying you, I was just saying."

"All right. But there are three left. We won't be equal. What should we do about that one then?" Sherlock said. He looked over at John and still felt like kissing him.

"You can ask me a question for that one. If you get it right I'll drink it. You really have to get to know me," John laughed.

"Yes, I should. You seem like a wonderful guy," Sherlock laughed. He picked up one of the blue shots and handed the other to John. "Cheers," he said and then drank it down, pulling a face. "These are disgusting really."

John laughed and took his shot. "You picked it!"

"I know," Sherlock said, pushing the glasses away and pouring himself more water. "It was to serve one purpose only, and apparently it has worked quite well. Let's get something sweet to eat. Let's get a piece of pie or cake or something before we leave."

"Okay," John nodded. "Or . . .we can get whipped cream for our room," John smiled wider.

Sherlock smiled back. "John Watson . . . you and your ideas. Fine, I am amenable to that suggestion. However, I do want something more to eat. I don't want to regret the blue drink and at the moment, I do." Sherlock went up to the bar and ordered a piece of pie, which he brought back with two forks. A server stopped by with two cups of coffee as well. Sherlock ate some of the pie but did not drink the coffee.

John sipped at the coffee and drank some water.

"Shall we talk about sex then?" Sherlock said, eating another bite of pie.

"What about it?" John asked. He wanted to stay away from the game for a bit until Sherlock calmed a bit in case he had to take another shot.

"What we might do when we get back. I'd like to have an idea so I can be thinking about it on the ride back. I like . . . anticipating," Sherlock said.

"When we get the whipped cream we can take turns putting some on the spots we want the other to lick," John said quietly.

Sherlock smiled as he imagined that. "Okay, that sounds quite nice." He took a sip of water. "Might get messy, though." 

"Hopefully," John grinned.

"Do you think the dressing gown belt might make an appearance this evening?" Sherlock asked.

John nodded. "That will add to the fun," he said. He couldn't help getting excited for the night. It was one thing to know they'd have sex and quite another to be planning it so casually.

"And will there be more games, do you think, or have we had enough of those this evening?" Sherlock asked slyly.

John shrugged and took a bite of pie. "What else did you have in mind? I feel like drinking, eating whipped cream off of each other and getting all tied up is pretty good."

"I do not necessarily need any games this evening," Sherlock said, matter-of-factly, "However, I am always quite interested in teasing. I love teasing you." He leaned over and wrapped his fingers around one of John's wrists. "If I recall correctly, haven't you in the past illustrated that you enjoy my teasing?"

John grinned. "I really do enjoy that," he said. Sherlock's fingers sent tingles up his arm.

"Do you think it's likely that I could tease you into getting an erection before we leave this pub?" Sherlock asked, eyeing him.

"I think that's very likely," John nodded. 

"Have you got one already then?" Sherlock asked.

"A bit, but I was just imagining eating whipped cream off of you," John smiled.

"Yes, I bet you were. Are you sure you weren't also picturing me on my knees in the men's toilets? Or perhaps bending you over this table and fucking you right now? Do you think picturing those things would be of benefit in the erection department at all?" Sherlock held John's wrist more tightly. "Because I will, John. I will you take you into the toilets and suck your cock right now if that's what you want." He took a sip of water. "Or we can walk out of here, nip into the shop next door and get a taxi back."

John closed his eyes as he pictured Sherlock taking him over the table, right in front of all of these people. He flushed but he also got harder. He opened his eyes and looked at Sherlock. "The bathroom is a very naughty idea, Sherlock. Of course so is me crawling under this table and sucking your cock," he said.

"Yes, that would be naughty," Sherlock closed his eyes, too, and imagined it. Then he opened his eyes and looked at John, "But I have better self control than you do, John. Despite the drink, I am entirely in control of all parts of my person. You, on the other hand, are a different matter. Your control is not as good. I've no doubt I could make you come before we get home if that's what took my fancy. Sometimes I wonder if I have better control over your body than you do." He didn't take his gaze from John's.

"I could hold it, thank you," John said with mock offense.

" _I_ could hold it, John," Sherlock pushed his fingers up John's shirt sleeve. "I could hold it in the taxi and I could stroke it and I could make you come. Think about that for a moment."

John closed his eyes and pictured it before shaking his head. "I would wait," he murmured.

"Hmmm," Sherlock said or rather deliberately purred. "I was only suggesting a possibility, but your insistence seems to be turning it into a challenge." He shifted in his seat.

"You don't seem to think I can handle it," John said. "But it looks like the thought of it is making you a bit uncomfortable," John murmured. At the last word he toed off his shoe and gently rubbed his foot against Sherlock's cock under the table cloth.

"Stop it," Sherlock said abruptly. "Get some money out of your wallet to leave in the tip jar. Then follow me outside." Sherlock stood up and moved toward the front door.

John pulled his foot back quickly, worried he might have gone too far. He put his shoe back on and fished out his wallet feeling extremely embarrassed. He tossed a fiver into the jar and met Sherlock out on the sidewalk. "Sorry," he said quietly.

"Keep your wallet out, we're going into that shop," Sherlock said, nodding his head towards the Co-op next door. Sherlock headed in. He picked up a basket and walked to the dairy aisle. He put a can of spray whipped cream and a bottle of milk into the basket. John followed. He went down another aisle and picked up a box of paracetamol and a small bottle of lube. Then he walked to the till near the door. He put the basket on the counter and said to the woman, "Can we get a box of twelve condoms, please?" She rang through their purchases. "He's paying," Sherlock said, motioning to John.

John paid the woman and put away his change as they walked out. He wondered if Sherlock had heard him but he wasn't going to say it again.

Sherlock pulled John into the gitty between the two buildings. "The taxi will be here in three minutes," Sherlock said. "Open your jacket." John did and Sherlock slipped open John's belt and undid the buttons of his jeans. "Button up your jacket," Sherlock said and then led him to the kerb.

The taxi pulled up. Sherlock opened the near door for John and walked around the other side and got in. "Hold the bag on your knees," he said to John. Sherlock complimented the driver on his choice of pubs. As he did so, he slid his hand between the bag and John's stomach. He reached under John's jacket and into his trousers. He wrapped his fingers around John's cock. As the driver continued to talk about knowing the pub's landlord, Sherlock looked at John and then began moving his hand. He turned towards the front and asked the driver another question. He kept looking forward as he continued to stroke John. He could feel the heat of John's cock and then the dampness. He sped up his hand. Sherlock was talking about how he and John lived in London but loved to holiday in the Cotswolds. When the driver paused, Sherlock said, "Would you mind turning up the radio a little? I love this song." When the driver did, Sherlock leaned over and whispered in John's ear, "I want you to come, John. Please."

"Not here," John breathed. "Sherlock, please." He shifted in his seat uncomfortably.

Sherlock smiled and whispered, "If you really don't want to, that's okay. But could I have made it happen, if you hadn't said no?" He stopped moving his hand but didn't pull it away. The song was still playing loudly in their ears.

"Obviously," John whispered back.

"Don't be cross," Sherlock said. He slipped his hand out of John's trousers and kissed his cheek. He leaned forward to the driver who had pulled into the B&B's car park. "We're down there," he motioned and got some money out of his wallet. "Thanks again," he said to the driver as he and John got out.

"I'm not cross," John said as they walked to their room. "You were cross . . ."

"I was not cross, I was challenged. You should know by now how I react when I am challenged," Sherlock smiled, a little embarrassed. "I'm sorry for doing that."

"You shouted at me," John pouted playfully. "And I was just playing your game."

"That was not a shout, John," Sherlock said, taking off his coat. "That was me bossing you. I don't need to shout to boss you, do I?"

"You know what I mean," John said as he hung his coat up. "In all honesty, did that bother you, what I did?"

"Not in the slightest. Unfortunately, I had already developed a plan and needed to put it into action. I'm sorry, John, I'm sorry when I get like that," Sherlock picked up the bag and put the milk and whipped cream into the fridge. "Would you mind making a fire?"

John shook his head and went over to the fireplace, getting the fire going. "We're not doing it on the floor again, are we?" He smiled back at Sherlock.

"No, we're not doing it on the floor," Sherlock said. "We are going to do it on the bed like civilised men."

"'Civilized men' covered in whipped cream," John laughed.

"Not covered, John. Please, have some dignity," Sherlock sat down in the chair. "How's your erection, by the way?" he said, looking at the fire.

"Still there," John said. He moved and sat on the end of the bed to watch the flames as well. "Do you still have one?"

"I told you, John," Sherlock said, "I can control my body. Besides, I was focused on a challenge, I needed all my blood in my brain."

"Yeah, yeah. Is it possible you no longer find me attractive and you're going to leave me for that bartender?" He teased.

"That bartender's wife just died two months ago, John, please, have some tact," Sherlock smiled because he was lying. "Listen, do me a favour, yes? Stop talking for a moment. Pour two glasses of water and put them on the bedside table along with the other things we bought. Except for the milk and condoms. Then get my dressing gown belt and put it on my pillow. And this," Sherlock said, "is not shouting. I'm back to bossing you. Just to clarify."

"I can tell the difference, thanks. At the pub you shouted," John insisted. He got up and did as Sherlock told him, distributing all of the items accordingly to their spots. He poured the water last and put one on the table on each side of the bed.

"I did not. Alcohol affects the accuracy of one's senses. You may have heard a shout, but I did not shout," Sherlock stayed sitting in the chair. "Turn off all the lights, please, and remove your clothes."

"Can I remove your clothes?" John grinned as he switched off everything but the fire. He took his time with his clothes, taking each piece off slowly.

"I'm afraid not, John, I'm busy sitting in this chair by the fire. You are going to take off your clothes and get in bed now." 

When John finally kicked his pants aside he climbed into bed and got under the covers. "Now what?" he asked.


	15. Everyone Will See

"Now, you should probably tell me how you would like me to tie your hands. You might opt for behind your back, or over your head, or to the bed, or perhaps you have another suggestion. I am open-minded on this topic," Sherlock said.

"Um . . ." John thought about each one before answering. "Above my head to the headboard," he answered finally.

"I appreciate that you had a good think about that before deciding," Sherlock said. "However, I think perhaps we should start with you lying on your side with your hands behind your back. Please get into that position now."

"What was the point of asking?" John asked as he shifted and pulled his hands behind him.

"Because I'm not going to tie your hands behind your back," Sherlock said, standing. "I'm just going to ask you to keep them there. I will later tie them above your head as you have requested."

Sherlock took off his clothes and slid into the bed. He removed two pills from the pack and swallowed them with a sip of water. He picked up the whipped cream can and squirted a bit onto his finger. He licked it. "This tastes horrible, John."

"Well, don't use it then. We can get chocolate syrup or something next time," he said. "I don't mind."

"Hmm. . . maybe." Sherlock turned his body to face, but not touch, John's. He lifted one finger and put it on John's nose. "Hi there," he said.

"Hi," John smiled, wrinkling his nose lightly.

Sherlock dipped his finger to John's lips. He traced them and then trailed it to John's ear, which he rubbed between his index finger and thumb. "How are you feeling?"

"Happy," John smiled. The alcohol was affecting him just enough to feel giddy but still be in his right mind. "You?"

"Lovely," Sherlock said softly. He moved his index finger down John's neck and across his shoulder. He drew a line down John's arm to his hand behind his back. He leaned his mouth towards John's but did not let them touch. He drew a line across John's waist to his hip. John wiggled at the tickle. Sherlock moved his finger back over the same place, smiling as he did. His finger then trailed between John's cheeks before quickly moving to John's hand which he held. He moved his head back from John's mouth.

John's eyes were fixed on Sherlock, watching him so very closely and taking in every detail of his softly smiling face. "Can I touch?" He asked so very quietly when Sherlock moved back.

"Didn't I just ask you to keep your hands behind your back?" Sherlock gripped John's hand.

"I was just asking," John said. "I want to trace you, too." Who would have thought not touching Sherlock would be as exhilarating as touching him?

"Obviously you do. Why wouldn't you? However," Sherlock said, "I'm afraid that's not permitted at the moment." Sherlock let go of John's hand and brought his up John's spine over his shoulder and down the middle of John's chest. Then he flattened his hand, slid it down John's belly and over his cock. He let it rest there. He looked into John's eyes.

John watched him back and tried to hold as still as possible.

"I love you," Sherlock said and as he did, he curled his hand around John and just held his cock. "Make it go very hard in my hand, please."

"I love you, too," John murmured before closing his eyes. He thought about the little alley Sherlock took him in to take his belt off and imagined so much more happening -- Sherlock sucking him off, John sucking him off, people passing as he was lifted up and fucked against the wall . . . he felt himself growing harder at the thought.

"That's good, John," Sherlock whispered and start to move his hand on John's cock. "Get it so hard it aches."

John moaned softly and thought about the restaurant again, being bent over the table and fucked in front of all of those people. He whimpered as he watched it play out.

"Roll onto your back, please, and put your hands above your head," Sherlock instructed.

John did as Sherlock asked, lifting his hands up over his head as he turned around.

Sherlock sat up and tied the dressing gown belt around John's wrist, hooking it through the headboard. He reached for the lube and first slicked himself, his cock hard from watching John make himself hard. Then he moved his hands on John again. "Do you want to tell me what you were thinking about?"

"You fucking me in the alley," John said quietly. "Against the wall while people walk by unknowing in the street. And the restaurant . . . over the table," he murmured.

"Hmm . . ." Sherlock said. "You wouldn't have had any interest in my pushing you against the wall and sucking you off in the alley? That wouldn't have been something you wanted?" As Sherlock spoke, he pumped John's cock.

"That's how -- ah -- I saw it starting," John breathed. He writhed under Sherlock.

Sherlock moved his leg so he was now straddling John, but he stayed on his knees. He kept stroking John but leaned over on his other elbow. He lowered his hips a little and rocked them so his own cock brushed against John's hip. "In the street the people were unknowing. But in the pub, they wouldn't have been, would they? They would have seen. Would you have liked that?"

"I like the thought of it," John admitted. "But I don't think . . . I'd actually do it," he said.

"That's all right, John, that's what these stories are for. That's what we're going to do now, John. We're in the pub. We’re both a bit drunk. I'm looking at you. Your cheeks are pink and you look good to me. You look so good that I want you. I want to fuck you, but I can't wait until we get home. I can't even wait until we leave. 'Get up,' I tell you and you stand. I move behind you and pull your chair away. 'Don't speak,' I say and I reach around your waist, undo your belt and pull down your trousers. 'Bend over' I tell you. Now people have noticed. They know what's going to happen, John, but no one blames me because they see how gorgeous you are, they understand why I'd want to have you." Sherlock's voice was serious as he spoke. "Turn over, John, twist the belt, not your wrists." Sherlock pulled some pillows and put them under John's hips. He pushed John's head onto the mattress. The belt didn't slide all the way down so John's arms were stretched tight.

John moaned into the mattress. "They'll stand and . . . and come over. They'll be watching," he sighed. "What if . . . they touch me?"

"I won't let them, John. Because you're all mine. But they will watch you because they want to see you get fucked. I slide open my trousers. I'm so hard, just looking at your body. I rest my hand on your back," Sherlock put one hand on John's back, as he stroked himself with the other. "I can't wait any longer, John, I need to fuck you." Sherlock pushed his cock against John's leg then pressed it between, pushing it inside John. "God, John, it feels good. You're so tight against me. I don't care that everyone's looking. I'm just thinking about my cock inside of you. I can't stop, John." Sherlock began thrusting roughly into John, imagining fucking him on the table.

John groaned as Sherlock pushed in, grunting with each hard thrust. He could almost hear the plates rattling as the table shakes violently. He flushed under everyone's gaze, squeezing his eyes shut. His real hands were hard fists, pulling and tugging on the belt.

Sherlock said, "Everyone is watching us, everyone is so jealous that I'm the one who gets to have you. John, I can't help myself. I want to take you hard, I want to show them that you belong to me." Sherlock's hand was still on John's back. He gripped his hip and pulled it back, matching the rhythm of his thrusts. "Push hard back into me, John. Push me further in." Sherlock's breath was raspy.

John got some bearing under his knees and did what Sherlock asked, thrusting back as hard as he could. "Fuck . . .I want it deep, Sherlock . . . feels so good," he breathed.

"I want to come, John, but I'm doing my best to hold off. I want everyone to watch you, I want them to see how beautiful you are, how sexy you are. I want them to see how good you are to fuck." Sherlock wanted more of John, wanted everything from John. Sherlock could feel the sweat on his back. His knees ached and his legs were shaking. But he did his best to stay in the moment. John's hip slammed against Sherlock. "Make yourself tighter, John. Tighten around me like you want me to stay in you forever."

"I do," John whined, tightening around Sherlock.

"John, your noises . . . now everyone's watching us, John, everyone in the pub is seeing you like this. They all know what you let me do to you," Sherlock said. He was so close but he wanted John to have this fantasy as long as he could. "Anything else you want to show them?"

"I want to come," John moaned between his grunts and gasps. "I want to . . .show them that your cock . . . that you make me lose everything," he continued.

Sherlock was struggling to make words but felt like he needed to be in control so John could let go of everything. "I'm going to come into you, John, and then I'm going to turn you over and you're going to come for everyone to see. Is that okay, John?"

"Yes," John moaned loudly. "Please, Sherlock . . . fuck," he swore as he pressed into the mattress.

As soon as Sherlock heard yes, he closed his eyes and gave up his own control. He let his body pound into John and he knew he was giving John what he wanted and this made him come hard, arching into John, as far as he could be into John. His body froze and his breathing stopped and then it was done and he tried not to get lost in it and instead pulled out of John and said, "Turn over. Are you going to do it or am I? With my hand or my mouth?"

"I can't," John said, pulling hard at his arms. He felt like the air could get him off right now.

"Oh sorry, I forgot," Sherlock said as he quickly helped John turn over. He moved his hand to John's hard cock which was already wet. Then he shifted his body so he was lying next to John and began stroking hard as he put his mouth next to John's ear and whispered, "Show everyone what I make your body do."

John let out a small whimper that ripped into a groan as he came hard, arching off of the bed as he shouted for Sherlock.

Sherlock held John's cock through his orgasm, pressing his head against John's. Then he reached up, untied John's hands, slipped his arms around his body and held John as he recovered. 

"Christ," John gasped. "You're . . .going to kill me."

Sherlock laughed softly. "Don't blame me. You did that all yourself. It was all in your head," Sherlock said. "Except for the fucking. I was in on that part a bit."

"A bit," John breathed. He finally managed to move his arms around Sherlock and pecked a small kiss on his chest. "Thanks," he said quietly.

"For what?" Sherlock asked.

"All of this . . . what you do for me. You never ask for anything and I feel like I take too much," he admitted. Perhaps the alcohol had affected him more than he thought.

"John, don't be daft," Sherlock said. "Please don't make me look like a saint. In case you haven't noticed, I tend to enjoy myself. Because I like doing the things I do for you. I like everything we do. Besides, it's not just me doing for you. Don't think of it like. Everything we do, _we_ do. It's us." He kissed John. "So don't be an idiot. Especially a come-covered one."

John swatted his shoulder. "You know what I mean," he mumbled. He hardly knew what he meant but he loved Sherlock so much and it might have finally driven him crazy. He chuckled at the thought.

"I'm just saying, look, I am never going to bend you over a table in a pub full of people. I'm afraid I can guarantee that. But I liked doing it with you tonight. That's what you give me. You give me all these chances to do things I'd never do. I love you for that."

"I promise I'll do yours for you, as soon as I get the chance, okay?" John asked softly.

"Okay," Sherlock said. "That'd be good." He snuggled him. "The thing that is strange is that I kind of feel like yours have also become mine, if you know what I mean. I think about them now . . . but I didn't before you mentioned them."

John nodded. "I know what you mean. You're so good to me," he chuckled softly. "I'm very lucky to have you." 

"So true," Sherlock said. "I am very good to you and you are very lucky to have me. I can't deny that."

John swatted his arm again but said nothing else about that. "Are we doing anything else?" he murmured.

"Yes, we're going to do whatever it is you are thinking about. Because I have a feeling you are thinking about something." 

"I need a few minutes, okay?" John asked, curling against him. 

"Of course," Sherlock said as he nuzzled John's head.


	16. The Whipped Cream

"I like the whipped cream," John murmured. "Do you mind if I put some on you?"

"That'd be fine, John. Just because I don't want it in my mouth doesn't mean I'm against it elsewhere," Sherlock said.

"Okay," John nodded. He waited several more minutes, catching his breath completely before sitting up. He knew he was going to be exhausted after this, especially if his orgasm was the same intensity as his last one. But he'd go slow and make this one about Sherlock. "Is it in the fridge?" 

"No, it's here," Sherlock said, grabbing it from the table and handing it to John. "Be careful, though. If there's any chance you're going to feel sick tomorrow morning, lots of this is probably not going to be what you want to be throwing up," he teased. 

"I'm not going to get sick!" John laughed, shaking the can as he straddled Sherlock's thighs.

"I'm just showing concern, John, don't be so tetchy," Sherlock squeezed John's thighs.

John swatted his hand lightly before turning the can and squirting a bit of whipped cream on the nape of Sherlock's neck. He giggled softly before putting a bit on his chest, then his nipple, then his stomach, and after scooting down a bit one more on his inner thigh. John tossed the can to the side and admired his work.

Sherlock lay still as John decorated his body. "It tickles a little," he said softly. "Your face, though. You look very pleased with yourself. It's cute." Sherlock smiled at John.

John smiled wide. "I am . . .you look delicious," he said. He shifted off of Sherlock to avoid getting any of the cream on himself before leaning down and licking the spot in his neck, sucking on his skin until a red mark appeared.

Sherlock turned his head to give John access to his neck. As John mouth moved and sucked on his skin, Sherlock felt a shiver which turned into a heat. "Mmmm . . . ," he softly moaned.

John moved up and was sure not to touch any part of him except for the part with whipped cream, where once again he lowered his mouth onto and sucked happily.

Sherlock closed his eyes. He knew where each bit of whipped cream was on his body. John was sucking on his neck now. He imagined where John might move next. He kept his eyes closed, trying to focus only on the touch of John's mouth.

After his chest John lifted up again and moved to his nipple, again not touching anything but that spot. He sucked Sherlock's nipple into his mouth, rolled it lightly between his teeth.

Sherlock's back arched slightly, his chest rising to John's mouth as it pulled on his nipple. He realised the rest of his skin almost itched, almost ached to be touched. He lifted his hand to rest it on his chest, just to have his skin touched.

John glanced over and grinned deviously. "Only what has whipped cream on it," he murmured against his skin, pulling his hand away. This was a game after all.

Sherlock smiled at John's cheekiness. "You should have put more cream on then. I'm finding it . . . difficult not getting touched more." He tried to lift his body to press against John's, even though he knew John would scold him.

John sat up on his knees again so Sherlock couldn't reach him. "I told you at the restaurant you could put the whipped cream wherever you wanted me to kiss and you foolishly gave the can to me," John teased.

"Drunkenness caused my poor decisions. I should not be held responsible for that," he pulled a face. "You're being so cruel to me." He snuck his hand past the cream on his belly, spreading it. "There," he said, triumphantly. "Now you have to kiss more."

John raised his brows in challenge. "That's cheating," he said. He scooped away the small dollop on Sherlock's inner thigh. "That means you lose one," he said, sucking on his fingers instead.

"John Watson. You are mean." Sherlock turned his head to pout and noticed the can of whipped cream on the other side of the bed. He quickly stretched his arm, grabbed it and held it up to John's face. "Stop being mean or I will shoot."

John pushed his arms up quickly and while he still had the element of surprise, he wrestled the can away from him. "That's very naughty, Sherlock," John said as he sat up again, wagging his finger.

"Fine." Sherlock pulled a cute face and then said shyly, "Squirt me more, please."

John grinned and almost teased him again, but he looked to adorable to ignore. John put whipped cream on his other nipple and at the end of his sternum just above his stomach. "Like that?" 

"A little lower, please."

John put a dollop just a couple inches down. "Here?"

"Perhaps just a little lower," Sherlock said. "Please."

John scooted back so he was sitting over Sherlock's knees, putting a dollop on the soft skin over his groin. "Here?"

"Oh my God, John, sometimes you simply deserve it when I act like a child." He grabbed the can and pressed the end, spraying it into the air so most of it landed on his crotch, the rest on John's belly and the bed. "Fine. That's perfect," Sherlock said, dropping the can onto the floor.

John couldn't help laughing, climbing off of Sherlock and kneeling beside him. He leaned down and kissed his lips. "You're not the only one allowed to tease," he smiled. And then he started properly, kissing and sucking hard on every inch of Sherlock's skin that was covered in whipped cream. Most of them were left with a red mark in their place. He swirled his tongue over the wide area where Sherlock had spread it, climbing over his knees again. 

"See?" Sherlock said. "Pouting is sometimes very effective." He laid back and let John's mouth move on him. John's tongue was soft but when he pulled Sherlock's skin into his mouth, it stung but in a good way, like physical proof of John's want which made it feel all the better. Sherlock let out a soft moan as John swirled over the mess of cream.

"Shut up," John mumbled against his skin, finally moving closer to Sherlock's groin and slowing down to savor the moment.

"John," Sherlock exhaled. He tried to breathe in and out, slowly, to enjoy this, the anticipation, John's mouth so near.

John hummed and sat up a bit, thinking at first to tease him some more but he looked at Sherlock's cream-covered cock and couldn't help himself. He sucked Sherlock deep, taking him all the way in and moving quickly.

Sherlock's body arched with John's movement, arched into John's mouth. Yes, this is what he had wanted and the anticipation made it all the nicer. John's wet mouth, John's tongue -- softness against hardness. Sherlock let the word yes slip from his lips.

John tugged on his balls as he moved up and down on Sherlock, small moans escaping as he pulled Sherlock to the back of his throat. He could taste the precome, mixed with the cream and he moaned properly.

Sherlock's body wanted to rock, wanted to push into John's mouth, but he didn't like to do that. Instead he thought of the air that surrounded his body, and how part of him was inside of John. This didn't help ease the urge. "John," he whispered, "I'm close. Use your hand." 

John shook his head around Sherlock and continued on, keeping the same ferocity. He imagined what would happen and he moaned softly, moving a hand to Sherlock's thigh.

Sherlock looked down at John. Seeing what he was doing made feeling it a thousand times greater and an electricity moved through him. He came, his body jerking. Then he felt frozen, all the energy was gone and he sank back onto the bed. He reached a hand down to John's cheek.

John felt his release and he pulled back a bit but at the last minute chickened out of swallowing it. It pooled in his mouth and then down his chin. "Sorry -- fuck," John mumbled, wiping at his mouth and scrambling to find his t-shirt to clean himself off. He'd have to think that through better next time. He knew there was no harm in it, but now he'd gone and turned a sexy moment into a disaster. 

Sherlock smiled at John. "Don't be daft. We've already made a mess of this bed and my body," he motioned down at the bits of cream that John missed. "Come here," he pulled John to him and kissed him. "That was good, John. I love what you do for me."

John scrunched his nose into the kiss, worried about kissing him with the mess he'd made of himself. "I imagined it looking a bit sexier than that," he admitted. "I'll have to practise."

"I don't care what you do after, I like what you do before," Sherlock said. "However, if you want to learn to do it, I will be happy to help you practise. Now stop being silly," he added as he licked John's chin to show he meant it.

John closed his eyes and nodded before opening them up again and meeting Sherlock's. "Now what?" he asked. 

"It's our last night here," Sherlock realised. He quickly reached for his phone and snapped a picture of John's face on the pillow next to him. "To help you remember later," he said, putting his phone back on the table. "Is there anything you wanted to do on this trip that we haven't done?" Sherlock asked. "I've tried to do the things I imagined you did when you went on holiday when you were young, like skimming stones, eating a picnic and getting into a spat. I imagine we've also probably done some things you didn't do on holiday when you were young. Any expectations that haven't been met?"

"Delete that picture immediately! I will shower and you can take another one," John insisted. "And everything has been perfect. What about you? Did you like it? Did you have fun?"

"I very much had fun. But I am wondering one thing," Sherlock said, pausing to think carefully about the words he chose. "It's been ever so nice here. We've . . . done a lot of things. It's all been just good. We've seemed . . . happy. Do you think it's just being here? Do you think when we go home things will be . . . different?"

"Yes," John nodded. "But that doesn't mean bad. I'll have work and you'll have cases so it won't be twenty four hours like this. But I'm still going to love you in London."

"You're confident of that?"

"Oh yes," John nodded. "That will never change."

"I find that reassuring," Sherlock said. "Okay, so are we going to sleep now or are we staying up all night or something in between?" Sherlock stretched his body and had an urge to yawn but decided against it.

"We can sleep if you like," John smiled, catching the stifling yawn. 

"Yes, but . . . I also don't want tonight to end. I suppose it wouldn't be practical to set our alarms and sleep for an hour, wake up, shag, and then repeat for the entire night, would it?" Sherlock said, smiling, as he snuggled into John.

"It wouldn't be practical, but if you really wanted to I would do it," John said, pretending like it would be so hard. 

"Did you ever sleep in a tent when you were little?" Sherlock asked. "What kinds of things did you do in the tent? We could do those things."

"We only went camping once, and my mom and sister hated it and we never went again."  
  
"Okay, then, let's not do that," Sherlock said. "Here, turn over so I can spoon you and I will draw something with my finger on your back and you can guess what it is." 

"Okay," John nodded, turning like Sherlock asked him to and scooting closer to him.

Sherlock pressed his bottom half closer to John, but left a gap between their chests so he had space to touch. He used his index finger to trace a few simple shapes which John guessed right away. His touch was very light, but not light enough to tickle. "This one's going to be more difficult to guess," he said. He moved his finger across John's whole back, dipping, dotting, and brushing as if it were a canvas. "Well, what do you think I drew?"

John bit his lip and shrugged lightly. "I don't know," he admitted. "A violin?" 

"Excellent guess, but I'm sorry. It was a portrait of the Queen," Sherlock said. He kissed John lightly on the back on the neck. "I'm teasing. It wasn't anything. I was just touching you. I like to." 

"Cheater," John laughed softly. "But I'll let it slide this time."

"Tell me something to draw then, and I'll do it. My mind is almost as tired as my body."

"Draw an ice cream sundae," he smiled. 

Sherlock did his best. When he drew the cherry on top, he said, "This has an extraordinarily long stem" and let his fingertip move up John's neck and into his hair, where he spread all of his fingers through. He lifted John's hair softly, just moving his hand within it. "Mmm, I like this feeling," he said softly.

John chuckled as chills erupted all over his body. 

"I spend a vast majority of my time wanting every inch of my skin touching yours," Sherlock said softly, still sifting through John's hair.

"We have a lot in common," John smiled. 

"I know we can't be like that all the time," Sherlock said. "But I feel like these past few days have been the closest we can come to that. I've really loved it. We should go on breaks more regularly. I can't believe I've had so much fun."

John smiled. "I am not going to say no to more holidays," he chuckled. "Especially with you."

"Good," Sherlock wrapped his arms around John's chest. "I'm a bit sleepy. I love you though," he said quietly.

"I love you, too," John said. "Go to sleep, okay?"

"But if one of us wakes, he should wake the other and we'll kiss, yes?" Sherlock's eyes were starting to shut.

"Yes," John agreed.


	17. Another Sleeping Game

John wasn't sleepy just yet, but he wanted Sherlock to fall asleep. 

Sherlock's head sank into the pillow, his hands dropped from John's chest and he was asleep.

John shifted slowly, turning around to face him. He looked so adorable, John touched his face lightly, tracing the edges. 

Sherlock was in a twilight. He thought he could feel John's fingers, but his brain couldn't make him speak or open his eyes. He was too far gone to do anything except let go and fall deeper.

John scooted closer and pecked his lips, looking at him quickly so see if he was going to react. 

Sherlock didn't react or move.

John gently pushed Sherlock onto his back and continued to kiss his chest, reaching down to stroke his cock lightly.  John felt himself growing harder, and to his surprise Sherlock was as well. John continued to lick and kiss his way down, dipping his tongue into Sherlock's navel. 

The muscles in Sherlock's stomach twitched at John's kisses, but he didn't wake up.

John paused and glanced up but when Sherlock didn't wake up, he continued lower. John sucked Sherlock's cock into his mouth, moving slowly up and down. He bucked his own hips into the mattress for friction. 

Sherlock's body was reacting without his knowledge. His cock was stiff and his skin grew warm.

John bobbed faster, alternating between fast bobs and sucking on just the head. He had to admit it was pretty sexy, sneaking in blowjobs like this. Just like the story he lubed his finger and pressed it slowly into Sherlock. 

At first Sherlock thought he was dreaming. He was horny, he wanted John. He often woke with this feeling, but John was always already gone. Then he felt John's finger, he felt it -- not dreamt it, he was sure of it. "John," he sleepily mumbled.

John froze, waiting to see what would happen. When nothing more came, he took Sherlock even deeper into his mouth, pumping his finger faster than before, very carefully, adding a second one. 

Sherlock's body moved slightly. Whatever was in his head, the dream or not dream, was making him feel warm, he felt like he was tumbling, rolling down a hill.

John pumped his fingers steadily and hummed so softly around Sherlock. 

Sherlock's breath now changed, his dream was becoming more confusing. He almost gasped and then it was like he tumbled awake. His eyes slowly opened and he saw John moving over his body. He felt and now knew what was happening. He let his hips rock now. "John, I'm awake now, I don't want you to stop."

John moaned his agreement, pumping his hand harder as he sucked. 

Sherlock did know he was awake, he did know what was happening. But he still felt dozy which made the entire experience quite different. He felt more helpless but was surprised that it didn't bother him. He stayed passive, just letting John do what he was doing. It all felt good.

John reached for the lube and then slid his hand between Sherlock's legs, pushing a finger inside.

Noises escaped from Sherlock's mouth. John's finger was both filling him and opening him, and he knew what that meant and he wanted it.

John pulled Sherlock out of his mouth and pulled his finger out, crawling up over him. He held Sherlock's gaze and pushed into him in one quick thrust, pulling out slowly and thrusting in again.  

Sherlock grunted as John pushed in, stretching him. His body jerked instinctively with every thrust. John was over him and inside him, everywhere Sherlock looked was John. "God, John . . . you . . ." he couldn't make a sentence.

John smirked as he pounded into Sherlock, gripping the sheet by his head. 

Sherlock's hips rose to meet the thrusts and he lifted one hand to hold John's above his head. "I feel like you are . . . taking me. Don't stop."

"I am taking you," John groaned above him. "Because . . . you're mine."

"I am, John," Sherlock groaned. "I'm yours. I want to make you feel good."

John pushed harder into him, moaning loudly. "Squeeze around me . . .please."

Sherlock used all his energy to clench his muscles, to hold John's cock inside him. "John," he moaned.

"Fuck," John moaned loudly. "God, Sherlock, you feel . . .so good," he said as he pumped faster. 

"This is all I want, to make you feel good," Sherlock said, holding John in, lifting his knees so it felt like John was further within him.

John shouted out, coming inside of him before he could even utter a warning. He moaned Sherlock's name and reached down to stroke Sherlock. 

Sherlock was hit by John's orgasm -- it filled him and he held his breath. Then he did his best to relax, to let John use his hand, let John make him come.

John was panting heavily as he stroked Sherlock quickly, wishing he'd been able to hold a bit longer. 

"John, I can't . . . I'm going to come, let me," Sherlock begged as his hips lifted and it felt like everything in his body tightened. "John," Sherlock called out almost desperately as he came into John's hand.

"That's my Sherlock," John murmured, stroking him through it.  

"Jesus, John," Sherlock said, pulling John down and burying his face in his shoulders.

John curled against him, holding him close and tightly. "I love you," he murmured. 

"I love you," Sherlock said quietly. "Don't let me go." He struggled getting his breath.

"Never," John whispered. 

Sherlock closed his eyes. "I'm glad we are together, John. I always want us to be together," he whispered. "I'm so sleepy." 

John shifted a little to get ready for sleep.

"Tomorrow you will be here when I wake up. That's been one of my favourite things about this trip," Sherlock was still squeezing John. "I'm going to go to sleep and you'll stay by me all night and all day tomorrow."

"When we go home I'm going to ask Sarah for the midday shift so that I can sleep in with you. I like waking up with you," John murmured into his hair.  

"Yes, yes, yes," Sherlock whispered as he drifted off to sleep.

John kissed his head and fell asleep with him, holding him close. 


	18. The End of The Holiday and The Answer To The Question

Sherlock woke first. He quickly opened his eyes to check that John was still there. He was. He looked at John as he was sleeping. He just felt love, he felt warm and like he could stay curled by him forever. But he knew today was their last day in the Cotswolds. He slipped out of bed and nipped to the bathroom for a quick wash. Then he went in and carefully took out his violin. Softly, he played [**A Time For Us**](http://youtu.be/oj4qaOpr8tE) to wake John.

John stirred at the soft noise, stretching and blinking his eyes open. He realised that was Sherlock playing and he sat up, the sheet falling around his waist as he brought his knees up and rest his chin on them. The song gave John goosebumps, and he smiled softly as he watched Sherlock play. 

Once Sherlock finished, he softly said, "We forgot about my playing. That's one thing we said we'd which we hadn't yet." He carefully put the violin back in its case and climbed back into bed and snuggled against John. He kissed him softly on the forehead. "Good morning, you silly person whom I love very much."

"Why am I silly?" John asked quietly, smiling at Sherlock. 

"Because you love me. That's silly," Sherlock said, "But I'm grateful. Did you sleep well? I did."

"I did sleep well," John nodded. "You really tired me out," he said. 

"I hate to say this, John, but we need to get going pretty soon. We have to check out by noon. I'm sorry."

"That's all right. Let me just wash up real quick," John said as he got up. "And Sherlock . . .I haven't changed my mind about my question, you know. If I could have an answer when I get out, that would be nice," he smiled sheepishly as he closed the bathroom door. 

Sherlock started packing up his things. He opened his bag and took out the photograph the woman had given him. He set it on top of John's bag. He rinsed the glasses and did his best to tidy a little. He sat down and waited for John.

John came out and dried off as he moved to his bag, pausing when he saw the picture. "Is this what they brought over?" John asked, picking it up to look at it closely. 

"Yes," Sherlock stayed in the chair and looked out the window. "It's a picture of a family that was happy in the Cotswolds. And then never happy again. You are my family now, John. I'm happy to make it official, but I don't want our family to end up like that one."

John nodded, understanding what Sherlock meant. He moved and sat beside Sherlock on the bed. "My family isn't perfect either, a lot of families aren't, but we can't pick them. That's why we go out into the world and find new people, make new families," he said, looking down at the picture again. 

"I'm glad I found you," Sherlock said, turning to look at him.

John looked up and smiled. "I'm glad I found you, too."

Sherlock leaned over and kiss John on the mouth. "I'm glad we came to the Cotswolds. I don't want it to end, but I'm kind of glad we're are going home as well."

John nodded. "There's no place like home, after all," he smiled. 

"Shall we go then? Maybe we can stop and get breakfast?" Sherlock stood up and grabbed his violin case, leaving both bags for John to carry. Sherlock walked into the main building and saw the couple. "Good morning, Mr Allen. Mrs Allen. We're checking out." He lay the keys on the counter.

"Did you boys enjoy yourselves?" Mrs Allen asked, searching for their bill.

"We did. It was lovely, wasn't it, John?" He glanced at John who was standing quietly. "I think we will be back. We're getting married soon. Perhaps we will come for our honeymoon? What do you think, John?"

John froze, his eyes widening at Sherlock. He couldn't bring himself to answer and could only nod weakly. How did he just -- he never even answered! John replayed the conversation in his head, wondering if he'd stupidly missed it. 

John said nothing as they said their goodbyes on the car. When they got in, Sherlock said, "I'm sorry. Was that okay? I guess saying it aloud makes our making it official actually official now. Are you cross?"

John finally came too and furrowed his brows. "Cross? No! I just . . . I thought you didn't want to," he said. 

"I didn't know what to say. I never thought I'd be in this position," he paused. "But I'm glad I am." He leaned over and gave John a quick kiss.

"You could have just said 'yes'," John grumbled, smiling at him. 

"Yes, then," Sherlock smiled. 

John shoved him playfully before pulling him into a kiss. This had been the best holiday yet and his mind was already racing ahead to the many more they would have as husbands.  


End file.
